
% 


/ 


/ 




















I 


\ 





/ 





































y * 














‘V 







































































































































. 




































- * 





















' 











f 

y : ✓ 















t ■* 


















* 






























/ 


/ 2 >• 


The Village 

of Youth 


Hub ©tber fain: ©alc3 


BESSIE HATTON 

M 

Author of “ Enid Lyle,” etc. 


TOUtb IRumerous illustrations 


W. H. 'M^GETSOy^ 



NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


V 


/ 1 , 
"A 




?Z8 

•H27 

Vi 


Copyright, 1895, 

BY 


FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY. 


<t64 




/ 


*0 


CONTENTS. 


I. The Village of Youth . . . . i 

II. A Child of the Winds . . . .31 

Jill. The Flower that reached the Sun-lands 72 

IV. The Garden of Innocence . . . .9 6 

v V. A Christmas Rose 124 

vVI. The Windflower 144 






THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH 










° Ytt Af>.* that Spring should vanish with thcRpSt. 
That Youth's sux.tt- scented manuscript should 
dost ‘ * 

I. 

T HERE was a young King who ought to have been 
the happiest monarch in the world. He was blessed 
with everything a mortal could desire. His palace might 
have been designed by the Divine architect Himself, so 
perfect was it in all its parts; and it stood amidst gardens 
with its dependent village at its gates, like a dream of 
feudal beauty in a story of romance. Notwithstanding his 
good fortune, the King was oppressed with what he con- 
ceived to be a great trouble. From the happy ruler of 
a happy people he gradually became grave and anxious, 
as if an intense fear had taken possession of his soul ; and 


i 


2 The Village of Youth. 

so it had. It was the fear of Age. He could no longer bear 
to meet old people, and eventually grew to hate the hoary 
heads and time-worn faces of his venerable subjects. He 
therefore divided his kingdom into two parts. The elders 
lived in one half of the realm, under the government of 
his mother, while he was King of the young. Riding, 
hawking, or sailing along the grey river, he never saw 
a wrinkled visage. Hence his kingdom was called the 
Village of Youth. 

The King was betrothed to a fair Princess named Rowena. 
She loved her future husband dearly, though his strange 
malady and the exodus of the old people from his dominions 
had clouded her happiness, and made her long for some 
way of alleviating his suffering. 

When the lovers were together they held no gentle, 
tender discourse. Uriel would only gaze at his betrothed 
with mournful eyes, and when she besought him not to be 
sorrowful he would say, tl Sweet lady, how can I 
be other than I am? Each loving word that falls from 
thy lips, each sweet smile that plays upon thy face, is as a 
dagger in my heart ; for I remember how soon the bloom of 
youth will pass from thy cheeks and the softness from 
thy lips. Our village, too, will become the Village of Eld, 
grim with unlovely age.” 


















































































* 










The Village of Youth. 5 

Interviews of this kind saddened the Princess to such 
an extent, that while she sat sewing among her women 
tears would often fall upon the embroidery, and she would 
be obliged to leave her work. 

Among the many fair maidens who attended upon 
Rowena, the fairest of them all was the Lady Beryl. She 
grieved sincerely to see her mistress so dejected, and taxed 
her brain night and day for some plan by which she might 
save the Village of Youth. With this thought deep in her 
heart, she rose early one morning and rode away to seek 
advice from the people who lived in the Village of Eld. 
It was spring ; the grass was green, the sky was blue. 
The sunshine gleamed on the maiden’s hair and on her dove- 
coloured garments. 

As she rode into the village the inhabitants gathered 
around her. She found herself in the midst of a crowd of 
grey-headed men and women, many of whom touched her 
dress and kissed her hand, while others knelt down and 
almost worshipped her ; she reminded them of their own 
early days, a sweet personification of the young spring. 
Beryl lifted up her voice, and said, — 

" Dear reverend people, you all know of the sadness of 
our sovereign and of its cause ; and now our dear Princess 
shares his sorrow. We are ignorant and inexperienced, 


6 


The Village of Youth. 

neither have we any wise men or women to counsel us; 
therefore I pray you tell me, is there any way to keep 
our youths and maidens always young, that they may never 
know age ? ” 

A long wailing cry was heard from the people of the 
village, — 

“There is no way — no way!” One old man, who was 
bent and tottering, raised his wrinkled face to the maiden’s, 
and said,— 

“ Spring gives place to summer, and summer to autumn, 
and autumn to winter. What would you ? Age is beauti- 
ful ; it is a time of peace, of meditation. Youth knows not 
rest ; it is ever striving, fighting, suffering. When age 
comes upon us we cease to enjoy as keenly as the young, 
but we cease to suffer as bitterly as they who are in the 
spring of life. If the scent of the air is less fresh and the 
voice of the brook is less sweet, why, the thunder clouds are 
less dark and the storm is robbed of its fury.” 

Beryl bowed her head and rode away. As she passed 
through the gate an old woman followed her, and 
whispered these words, — 

“An hour before sunset, on the longest day ot summer, 
Time, in his chariot, rides through the Village of Youth. 
If each year thou canst prevent his doing so, the world 


The Village of Youth. 7 

will still grow old, but the Village of Youth will remain 
young for ever.” 

“Alas, good dame, how can I hope to succeed in this 
endeavour ? ” 

“ Sweet maiden, thou art beautiful, thou art in the April 
of life. Time is gentle and pitiful ; throw thyself before 
his chariot. Thou wilt stay his flying feet, and thy 
sovereign will bless thee.” 

Beryl returned, pondering over the woman’s words. 
She entered that portion of the palace occupied by the 
Princess and her suite, and proceeded to her own 
chamber. 

The hangings were of white silk, and the floor was of 
ivory. Silver vases, filled with purple lilacs, perfumed 
the air. Presently three maidens entered, to attire their 
mistress for the evening banquet. One bathed her face 
and hands with spring-water, another combed her hair 
with a silver comb, and the third robed her in a gown 
of soft silk, edged with pearls. 

Beryl’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled 
with excitement, as she hastened along the corridor to 
the apartments of the Princess. Her royal mistress was 
seated in the portico which looked on to the palace 
gardens, J^eyer fr&d Beryl §een tfie future Queen so 


8 


The Village of Youth. 

sad. Forgetting her news in her anxiety, she threw 
herself at Rowena’s feet, and besought her to say what 
ailed her. 

“ It is the old trouble that afflicts me, dear child. The 
King grows worse, and I fear that if he cannot conquer 
his melancholy he will go mad.” 

Then Beryl, in hurried words, told Rowena of her 
visit to the Village of Eld, and of the woman’s message. 

The Princess became deeply interested in the recital, 
and as her handmaiden unfolded her plan of waiting for 
Time on the longest day of summer, she gradually caught 
her excitement. 

“ Young for ever,” she murmured, with a sigh, “ young 
for ever in a summer world ! It is too good to be true, 
Beryl ; besides, if it were not, how could I let thee 
depart upon such a quest ? Better far that I should go 
myself.” 

“Nay, sweet lady; thou art espoused to our lord, the 
King, but I have no lover who would grieve for me. 
Besides, I can but fail ; and so thou wilt pity my un- 
success, I shall be content ” 

The air was filled with the scent of spring flowers, and 
of the many roses which had clambered over the portico. 
Beryl sat at the Princess’ feet, and lifted up a pair of 









The Village of Youth. 1 1 

beseeching eyes to her face. At that moment the young 
King entered. He was made acquainted with the question 
in dispute. On hearing of Beryl’s plan a joyful expression 
lighted up his sad features, and at his earnest entreaty 
Rowena gave her consent to the undertaking. 


II. 

Summer had laid her hands upon the land, broadening with 
vigorous strokes the delicate colours of the faded spring. 
Fields of corn and barley were ripening, and far away on 
the uplands crimson poppies lay sleeping in the sunlight. 

Beryl waited outside the village on the longest day of 
the year. In white robes and silken cap she watched for 
the passing of Time. Before the day began to wane a 
chariot, drawn by the Winds, dashed along the road which 
led to the Village of Youth. The maiden, though half dead 
with terror, flung herself down before the gates with a loud 
cry. She felt herself raised from the ground, and on 
opening her eyes found that she was in the arms of a ragged 
youth. His face was beautiful beyond all description, 
though its expression was full of sorrow ; his garments 
were smirched with mud and hung in tatters, but they 
were jewelled from shoulder to hem with diamonds, whiter 
and more brilliant than any she had ever seen. Awed and 


12 


The Village of Youth. 

wondering, Beryl laid her finger softly upon one of the 
gems. But it dissolved and vanished at her touch ; and 
she realised that Time’s garments were jewelled with the 
world’s tears. 

Presently the youth addressed her, and his voice was the 
saddest of all the music that she had ever heard, — 

“ Maiden, what wouldst thou with me ? ” 

“ Good sir, I pray thee to spare the Village of Youth. 
Let its young days last for ever.” 

“For ever!” he sighed. “What spell is there in this 
1 for ever ’ that mortals must always crave after it ? I am 
the spirit of Time, the king of change. The Winds are 
my servants. My palace is built on the shores of Eternity ; 
and yet, for one hour passed in the Village of Youth, or 
for knowledge of the peace which reigns in the Village of 
Eld, I would lay down my immortality without a pang. 
In my flight through the world I see little joy. I ring the 
bells of birth, of marriage, and of death. Upon my garments 
the tears of humanity gather fast. Still, my task is not 
all unhappy, in that a day comes when I have healed their 
wounds with my touch, though scars remain, which even 
I, an Immortal, cannot efface. Alas, sweet maiden ! I dare 
not leave the Village of Youth unvisited, even at the prayer 
of the fairest of its daughters,” 


13 


The Village of Youth. 

Nevertheless, after many a sigh and many a tear, Beryl 
touched the changeful heart of Time ; and because she 
was so beautiful the youth loved her, and he bore 
her away in his chariot, leaving the Village of Youth 
unvisited. 

Desolate, and misty, and grey, was the country of Time, 
and rugged the castle built on the shores of Eternity. 
Strange, colourless flowers bloomed in the garden, and the 
paths were heavy and wet. In the great hall of the palace 
there were tables laden with fruit and wine, and after Beryl 
had eaten she felt refreshed. The place was lonely. There 
was not a sigh nor a token of any living creature within 
its walls. 

Some of the sorrow seemed to pass out of the youth’s 
face as he watched the maiden. And when she looked up 
at him and smiled all the tears on his dress melted away. 

il Sweet lady,” he presently said, " I did unwisely to 
bring thee here, for when thou art gone I shall feel more 
lonely than ever before. Until I met thee, I had never 
exchanged words with an earthly maid. Thy presence gives 
me much comfort ; I am so weary of travel, so tired of 
this grim country. I must, nevertheless, leave thee at 
sunrise. Remain here until I return, and I will not pass 
through the Village of Youth.” 


14 


The Village of Youth. 

Beryl’s heart leapt with gratitude. Her mission was 
accomplished. Then a sudden fear smote her. Must she 
remain alone in this weird place, and walk continually in 
this garden of colourless flowers ? 

" Good my lord, how long wilt thou be gone ? ” she 
tremblingly inquired. 

“A year, though it will seem but as a day to thee, for 
here time counts not ; this is his resting-place. In his 
palace there is no change; it is built on the everlasting 
shore.” 

As the youth finished speaking Beryl observed that the 
hall was full of weird shades, in jewelled cloaks of tears; 
but amongst them there was one whose garments were of 
shining white, gemmed with violets. 

11 These,” said Time, “ are the hours of to-day.” 

The shades flitted past, bending before their King. Beryl 
noticed that the sadness in their faces was akin to that of 
Time, with one exception. He of the white garments wore* 
an expression that was smiling and happy, and the violets 
on his dress filled the hall with pcrfiime. 

tl Good my lord, why doth this last shadow look so 
different from all the rest?” asked B ryl. 

At a sign from Time the shadow spoke, — 

”1 am the death-hour of a great poet. He died happily, 


15 


The Village of Youth. 

“ I am the death-hour of a great poet. He died happily, 
having enriched the world with his song. The moon kissed 
his lips as he breathed his last in my arms.” 

“ Whither are they going ? ” asked Beryl, as the hours 
floated through the hall. 

“I will show thee,” said the youth, leading her into the 
open. 

The air was keen. In the distance Beryl could hear the 
sound of the sea. Heavy clouds of mist hung around the 
castle. The maiden stooped to pluck one of the colourless 
flowers that bloomed in the garden. To her surprise, she 
could not break its stalk. She hurried after the youth, 
who was standing on a jutting piece of rock, some paces 
away. 

“Look,” he said, “yonder, to westward.” 

The maiden saw the winged hours floating over the 
sea. Far away she beheld a dim coast-line of a distant 
country. The sky on that far shore was a mass of rosy 
clouds, rosier still to Beryl’s eyes, accustomed as she 
had become to the greyness and mist of the country 
of Time. 

“The sea which lies beneath us is the sea of Eternity, 
and yonder land is the Garden or the Past. The sun always 
shines there; the Past forges its own halo.” 


1 6 The Village of Youth. 

the Eternal Sea. The hours of her earliest days were 
there, in that Garden of the Past. If she went thither, 
should she find them, and with them the playmates and the 
innocence of childhood ? 

Time noticed the sorrowful expression of her face, and 
pitied her. 

“ Maiden,” he said, 11 thou must not look backwards. Let 
the aged dream of the days that are gone ; thy future is before 
thee. It waits for thee, yonder behind the sun that is 
rising on the world. Wilt thou go with me and give up 
thy wish, content to let the Village of Youth grow old, as 
is the fate of all things mortal ? Thou wilt be happier in 
thine own country. Far away, in its valleys, the flowers 
and the summer call for thee. Come.” 

He stepped into his chariot, and held out his arms towards 
her. 

“ Nay, good my lord ; I will await thee here, and try 
to forget the flowers and the summer, remembering only 
thee and thy promise.” 

The youth waved his hand in token of adieu, and vanished 
from her sight. 

After her companion’s departure she roamed about 
the garden. That portion of it which surrounded the 
palace was bare and treeless, but in the distance she could 




✓ 











I 




2 




The Village of Youth. 19 

see forests of white poplars. She found some grey poppies 
in the garden not unlike those that bloomed in the Village 
of Youth, excepting that these of the country of Time had 
thick pulpy stems, resembling the water-lily. A straggling 
plant attracted her notice ; it looked like hemlock, only 
that the flower was of a deep purple. Lifting her face 
from the gloom of the floral beds, her eyes rested on the 
Garden of the Past. The wish to explore it, and to find 
in its green mazes her early days once more, was irre- 
sistible. 

Trembling with excitement, she sought for a path that 
should lead her to the seashore. With much difficulty, 
she succeeded in clambering down the steep descent. Upon 
the strand she found a tiny boat, with quaint paddles, in 
which she made for the shining coast. The skiff progressed 
rapidly. As it neared the land, Beryl noticed a great change 
in the atmosphere. The cold and mist of the country 
of Time were left behind her. Resting upon her oars, 
she cooled her hands in the sea. To her astonishment, she 
discovered that the water was not salt ; it tasted as fresh 
and as pure as the crystal stream that flowed through the 
Village of Youth. Great as was her desire to enter the 
wonderful garden that lay stretched before her, she almost 
regretted this last adventure. The heat became intense. 


20 


The Village of Youth. 

There was no longer a ripple on the sea. Everything lay 
dead still. When close in shore, all suddenly she could 
make no further progress ; the more she plied her paddles, 
the further she drifted backwards. At length exhausted, 
she lost consciousness. 

On recovering Beryl was surprised to find herself in the 
misty garden again, Time bending over her with a pitying 
expression on his face. 

il Thou shouldst not have gone to seek the Garden of 
the Past ; even I cannot gain access to its groves,” he 
said, when she had revived. 

tl I am grieved, and wish I had not ventured thither.” 

Touched by her sorrowful contrition, the youth held up 
a bunch of faded red poppies and said soothingly, — 

" I thought of thee as I passed by the Village of 
Youth.” 

“ Tell me, my dear lord, why is it that the sea washing 
the shores of the Garden of the Past is not salt, but fresh 
as a mountain spring?” said Beryl, taking the dead flowers 
and holding them tenderly in her hand. 

u All bitterness is purged from the Past, my child ; 
therefore the waters that wash its shores are sweet.” 


The Village of Youth, 


21 


III. 

So years and years fled by, but there was no change in 
the Village of Youth. It was always summer and always 
daylight. In the success of Beryl's scheme the King found 
the dearest wish of his heart gratified. His face regained 
its former beauty, and his manner its old charm. But at 
length, although he would not breathe the fact aloud, the 
unending season began to pall upon him. 

Always summer and always daylight ! His wedding-day 
would never come, for the present time would never pass. 
At length the sun grew hateful to him. He longed for 
night, and he gazed with agony upon the face of his ever- 
youthful love. When he walked through the gardens he 
prayed that the flowers might wither. He was weary of 
seeing them always the same, shedding the same scent on 
the air, never less, never more. The lark soaring upwards 
sang the same song of liberty and hope all through the 
unending day. No change in the Village of Youth, young 
for ever. 

The Princess, however, felt differently. A maiden wants 
so little to make her happy. The eternal day was not long 
to her ; her King was with her through its everlasting hours, 
and summer would never leave them and their love would 


22 


The Village of Youth. 

never die. Had she only known whether Beryl was safe, 
her mind would have been quite at rest. 

Meeting her Lord one day in the palace gardens, 
she read the agony in his face; and after listening to 
his plaints, she gently, though fearlessly, reprimanded 
him. 

“ Methinks, dear love, that we shall all be punished yet 
for thy discontent. Thou art placed upon the throne of 
a great kingdom as its sovereign. Thy subjects are true 
and loyal. Thy betrothed, as is well known, is neither 
clever enough nor good enough to fill the high post for 
which thou hast selected her ; but she loves thee, and 
would lay down her life for thee without regret. She sends 
her favourite maiden on a quest which is fraught with much 
danger ; on the accomplishment of that mission thy 
happiness depends. It succeeds ; but the royal attendant 
does not return. Time visits the Village ot Youth no 
more; and yet thou dwellest in its vernal freshness, ill- 
content.” 

“ Thou hast good cause to reproach me, dear one, 
erring only when thou dost affirm that she whom I love 
is not worthy to be my Queen. Were I but fit to tie 
her sandal or kiss the hem of her robe, I were glad 
indeed/' 








The Village of Youth. 25 

He took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart, 
while the hot sun beat down upon the weary village. 

It was thus that Beryl returned to her sovereign’s 
kingdom, on the same day and at the same hour she had 
left it, though the world was older by forty years. She 
walked through the streets, a bent, grey-haired woman. 
Everywhere smiling youth met her gaze. Little children 
had remained little. They gathered round her, pulling 
at her dress, and gazing wonderingly into her lined and 
worn face. 

" Where art thou going, good dame ? ” a girl 
inquired. 

il To the palace. I wish to see the King.” 

" In good sooth, they will never admit thee into the 
palace ; and did his majesty know that thou wert in the 
village he would have thee conducted thence.” 

“ Ah, maiden ! I know of his folly, which will be punished 
yet, rest assured. I was once a girl like thee, had hair 
like thine, and smooth white skin.” 

u That must have been a long time ago.” 

“ It seems but as yesterday,” said Beryl. 

She dragged her tired limbs to the palace gates, and 
stood there, bent and tottering. The guard who kept the 
door refused her admittance, saying that his master would 


26 


The Village of Youth. 

not allow the aged within the precincts of the village ; but 
the King happened to overhear the argument, and at once 
gave orders to have the woman brought before him. 
Although she appeared quite unknown to him, he fell upon 
her neck and embraced her, so wearied was he of the 
perpetual youth around him. But when she told them who 
she was, and her story, they greatly marvelled. 

“ Why didst thou leave the Palace of Time, dear Beryl ? ” 
asked Rowena. 

“ Sweet Princess, I learned to love the Spirit, forgetting 
how great, how godlike he was. And little understanding 
the difference between us, I grew unhappy because he never 
embraced me. What would you ? I was but a woman, still 
chained to earth, though the companion of an Immortal in 
the courts of Eternity. I grew to believe that he did not 
love me ; and he, seeing sorrow in my face, thought that I 
longed to go back to the world. I gave him my love, which 
was all I had of spiritual to give, and he was happy ; but 
I lived within his home ill-content. One night, when he 
returned from his yearly circle, I threw my arms around him 
and kissed him. All the palace shook, and he looked at me 
V^ith strange, wistful eyes. I felt tired and weak ; and I 
remembep nothing more until I awoke, as from a long 
dreanq and feund that I was lying op the banks of thq 








29 


The Village of Youth. 

stream yonder. I arose and washed in the river, and 
realised that I was bent, and grey. Then I knew that 
the fault had been mine ; his unwilling lips had given me 
age, and taken my youth for ever.” 

They led her within the palace, and she was clothed and 
fed. Rowena looked at her, and marvelled. In the worn, 
faded face she tried to trace some of the beauty that had 
been Beryl’s ; but all in vain. Once they were of the 
same years, but now Beryl was old and the Princess was 
in the springtime of life. 

During the watches of the night the aged woman heard 
the wings of Time sweeping through the silent village. 
Hurrying from the palace, she stretched out her arms to 
him in mute entreaty. 

There was a tone of sorrow in his voice as he cried, il Too 
late — too late ; only Youth with its beacon-light of Hope 
can stay the flying feet of Time I ” 

Morning came in the full glory of the risen sun, but the 
Village of Youth was no more. It was as a dream that had 
passed. Again old age gossiped in the streets and sat 
serene at its board of council. The King bowed his head, 
and accepted his punishment with a dignified humility. In 
the autumn of his life he found joy his youth had never 
known. He became wise in judgment, patient in sorrow, 


30 The Village of Youth. 

and was beloved by all his subjects. In latter years his 
kingdom grew large and prosperous, and it was no longer 
known as the Village of Youth, but was called the City of 
Content 





OF THE 

Winds 

M \ Jove i | ( ^ At bine 

harebell hung 

P with tears 
V some c°ld m°rning 
glacier* 

| °rd 'Jennyson. 


I. 


W HEN Sorrow was a little child and the Sea yet 
nursed pale grief on her breast, there lived in 
a distant country a great and wise King. Renowned for 
justice, he was both loved and revered by his subjects, and 
if God had blessed him with a child to inherit his lands 
he could have died without a regret. However, time passed, 
and it seemed that his wish was to remain ungratified. 
Being a noble and sagacious man, he reconciled himself 
to the will of his Creator; but his Queen still hoped against 
hope. The King’s time was fully occupied. Each day 


31 


32 A Child of the Winds. 

brought its different tasks. There was much state business 
to be discussed in council, and the administration of justice 
made great demands on the monarch’s leisure. His spouse, 
on the other hand, had little to do, excepting to tend her 
flowers and to ply her needle. She took to brooding and 
wishing impiously for what God evidently did not intend 
she should have. Unknown to the King, she visited all 
the magicians in his realm, and sought their help to aid 
her in the fulfilment of her wish ; but in vain. 

When very much depressed, it was the Queen’s habit 
to wander by the sea and speak her thoughts aloud. 
One day, feeling more wretched than she had ever done 
before, she left the palace secretly, and walked some 
miles along the coast, unburdening her mind as she 
went. 

It was late autumn. The approaching death of the 
year struck her majesty painfully. The ocean was a 
dull green under the heavy sky. She turned, and looked 
at the silver spires of the palace which lay in the distance. 
“ Ah ! what a difference it would have made in our dear 
home,” she said, “ had we been blessed with a child.” 
She clasped her hands in a frenzy of desire. It seemed 
to her agitated mind that the sea too was perturbed, that 
its rippling waves kissed her sandalled feet lovingly. At 






Wk M< ' . $ 

. . 

>->V?s.- :>•' V ' 


%j&m 


*»! 




m%m 






%'mm- 


^ - . 














- 


H 


g n? * 




««Niw±K *•- — 



3 





A Child of the Winds. 35 

length, tired with her walk, she lay down and wept herself 
to sleep. 

When she awoke it was evening. The woodlands and 
mountains lay in deep shadow. 

The Queen started up, scarcely remembering where she 
was. When she quite realised her position she drew her 
hooded cloak more tightly around her, and prepared to 
return home. She had scarcely made any progress, when 
suddenly, a few feet from her, she observed in the sea a 
face of surpassing beauty. The hair lay floating on 
the waves like red weed ; the eyes were as green as 
emeralds, with a fierce tenderness in them. The Queen 
stood transfixed with amazement, gazing at the woman’s 
face. She was uncertain what to do, whether to remain 
where she was, or whether to fly homewards along the 
shore. The royal lady had been reared in the simplest 
manner ; she had been taught to distrust her imagination, 
so she rubbed her eyes, expecting that when she looked 
again the vision would have vanished. But she was 
mistaken ; moreover, the apparition began to address her 
in throbbing bursts of song. 

" Mortal, I am here to grant thy desire. I have heard 
thy plaints and caught thy tears, and I have sorrowed for 
thee and tried to soothe thy woe, for I too have known 


36 A Child of the Winds. 

bitterness and despair. I was once the love of the North 
Wind. He wooed me amidst the ice-plains, in a world of 
crystal glaciers. He chased me through space, until we lay 
panting on the shores of Africa. But he has left me for 
the South Wind, with her golden hair and her hot breath. 
They have made their home on a mountain- top, where the 
snow-flowers bloom in profusion, where the sea can never 
go. Four years since he came, bearing a child in his arms. 
He laid it on my breast, saying that I was to keep it and 
rear it for his sake. That child I will give to thee. She 
knows nothing of her parentage, and it would be best 
that thou shouldst never tell her to whom she owes her 
being.” 

“ But when the North Wind finds that thou hast parted 
with thy precious charge what will he do ? ” panted the 
Queen. 

u He will storm and tear and lash my waves into moun- 
tains, and moan round continent and island, and search my 
ocean from the North to the South Pole. His spouse will 
scorch me with her breath till I am forced to dive down to 
cool crystal caverns, where, upon a bed of seaweed, I shall 
laugh loud and long, a conqueror.” 

The Queen held her breath in terror. She would have 
liked to escape from the fierce Sea, whose face wore a look 


A Child of die Winds. 


37 


of wild triumph ; but her anxiety to see the Child of the 
Winds overcame her fear, and she waited patiently, her 
hands clasped tightly together to quell her rising agitation. 

By this time it was quite dark ; the sky was starless, 
there was not a breath of air. In her imagination the 
Queen seemed to see the Winds in their mountain home, 
unconscious of the peril of their daughter. The Sea had 
disappeared, and was so long absent that the Queen began 
to think she had been dreaming, when suddenly, by invisible 
hands, a child was placed in her arms. 

u Thou must call her Myra,” said a voice, " for she hath 
known only bitterness on the breast of her foster-mother.” 

The Queen looked around, but saw no one. Pressing the 
burden to her heart, she started homewards. She dared 
not look at the little one ; but she felt the tiny arms clasped 
confidingly round her neck, and the sweet mouth pressed 
against her cheek gave her more happiness than she had 
ever known. 

The Sea followed her, washing the shore with phos- 
phorescent waves to light her steps homewards. The royal 
lady flew along with the agility of early youth, and the 
burden in her arms was made light by love. 

At length the marble steps were reached. She hurried 
up them and through the golden gates — along winding 


38 A Child of the Winds. 

passages and across alabaster halls, until at !eig h, breath- 
less and trembling with excitement, she burst into the 
King’s apartments, where she placed Myra in the arms of 
her amazed and happy husband. 

Cognisant of his just and upright nature, she did not tell 
him of the child’s parentage, knowing that he would have 
been the first to restore it to its rightful owners. She 
said that she had found the little creature on the shore, and 
that fearing it would be drowned by the incoming tide, she 
had borne it to the pa 1 ace, hoping that, should it be un- 
claimed, her royal lord would, in pity of her loneliness, and 
in consideration of their desire for a daughter, allow her to 
keep and rear it as their own. 

Long into the night they sat, admiring the lovely waif. 

li She must be royally born, my love,” said the King. 
u Washed overboard, perhaps, from some regal ship. Be 
sure she will be claimed of thee.” 

Suddenly Myra awoke, and the Queen set her on her 
feet, that they might the better observe her. 

She was about four years old. Heavy black hair fell 
around her face, which was lit with wild, pale eyes. Her 
small seamless garment was embroidered with pearls and 
shells, and through its transparent folds the little body 
looked like a blush rose with the dew upon it, The Queen, 




■Wm 


M'*;. 






i!§f!8i 

'm 




■■■»•■/ - 
























































































* 





A Child of the Winds 


4i 


in an ecstasy of happiness, drew Myra’s hands within 
her own and kissed them ; her heart went out in motherly 
tenderness to the poor babe, hitherto unkissed by mortal 
lips/ though born of the Winds and rocked by the Sea. 
Yet, as she gazed into the child’s sorrowful face, a strange 
fear smote her, and she almost wished that she had left the 
eerie creature in its salt sea home, or that she had told her 
husband the story of its birth. Still, she could not go 
back now. 

In the night a great storm arose. The Queen lay 
trembling in her chamber. Myra’s powerful father had 
learned of the loss of his daughter. He lashed the Sea 
from Pole to Pole ; it thundered on the shore, and 
burst into wild shrieks of triumph. The night was long 
and tempestuous ; whole towns were destroyed, and many 
ships were sunk ; but towards morning the North Wind 
subsided into low wails of pain, which were answered by 
the languorous sighs of the South, as they returned to their 
mountain home sad and desolate, while in a marble palace 
a Queen awoke pressing their child to her breast. She had 
taken the weird sea-tossed thing to her heart, for weal or 


woe. 


42 


A Child of the Winds, 


II. 


Myra’s first years in her new home were trying ones 
to her foster-parents. Nothing in the palace seemed to 
please her. Not that she ever in any way testified her dislike 
of anybody or anything ; but there was a wistful look in 
her face, and she had a listless way of sitting for hours on 
the floor, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands 
supporting her chin. Asked what she thought about at 
these times her reply was an odd one, and always gave the 
Queen a creepy feeling. " I am not thinking ; I am only 
seeing things,” she would say. 

A spacious nursery had been built for the child’s use in 
the grounds of the palace. It had a walled-in garden of 
its own, in which there were flowers, fruit trees, soft lawns, 
and sparkling fountains. All the toy-makers in the kingdom 
had been employed to furnish the nursery with ingenious in- 
ventions. There were dolls by the hundred, tea and dinner 
services, farmyards, woolly animals, games innumerable, 
everything that the heart of the most petted child could 
desire; yet Myra took no pleasure in them. The only 
playthings she appeared to care for were a collection of 
shells, which had been gathered for her on the beach 


A Child of the Winds. 43 

and pierced with holes ; these she would string and re-string 
for hours. 

Time passed, and Myra grew into a lovely woman. The 
King was exceedingly proud of her, and he made her 
heiress to his crown and estates. One thing alone troubled 
him deeply. Myra would not consent to marry any of 
the great nobles who had frequented his court. All the 
high-born princes of his realm had wooed her in vain, and 
many others from distant lands had failed to please her. 
The King had often heard of princesses who set so high 
a value on themselves that they did not think any man 
good enough for them in the light of a husband, but Myra 
was not proud. She was of a very gentle nature, and 
he could not believe that she was cold-hearted ; yet she 
appeared to be so, for none of her noble lovers could 
boast the smallest word of encouragement from her sweet 
lips. She moved through the palace, a slim, dark beauty, 
in her pale draperies, her hair half hidden beneath her 
jewelled head-dress, her face, though calm and serene, still 
lit by the strange, wistful eyes which had so struck the 
Queen on that night seventeen years ago when the Winds 
had lost their daughter. 

As she grew to womanhood Myra delighted in her 
garden, She often sat there most of the day, reading or 


44 


A Child of die Winds. 


sewing or talking with the flowers. It amused the Princess 
to find that, from simple daisy to proud tiger-lily, they were 
all in love. With one exception. 

Near the wall there grew a purple Hollyhock or Rose- 
Mallow. The Princess preferred to call him by his latter 
name, because it seemed to her the grander and also the 
more euphonious of the two. He, of all the flowers in 
the enclosure, was her favourite, and he alone had not yet 
found a lady upon whom to bestow his affections. 

Myra always attended upon the garden herself. She 
cut off the dead blossoms, raked the soil with a golden rake, 
and gave the plants water out of a golden pitcher when the 
heat of the sun had been oppressive. Therefore, she 
participated in all their secrets. She knew that, although 
the Rose-Mallow was not in love with any inmate of the 
garden, there was an humble Violet which grew at his feet, 
in whose eyes he was the rarest and most lovely flower in 
the world. It amused Myra to see the Violet peep from 
its green leaves at the stately Mallow, and then, if he 
chanced to be looking, which, of course, was just what the 
Violet wanted, she would hide herself, in a strange tremor 
of excitement. 

u I feel so happy, and yet so miserable, to-day,” said the 
Rose-Mallow to the Pripcess one morning. “ Last night, 


A Child of the Winds. 45 

when all the others were asleep, I heard, from over the 
wall, a sweet voice singing a hymn to Night. I asked the 
Poplar who it was, and he said it was the Evening Prim- 
rose; that there were none of her race in our garden, and 
that she was more beautiful than daylight.” 

44 And why should that knowledge distress thee ? ” asked 
the Princess, sitting down at his feet. 

44 Because I love her. Her voice is music. I am pining 
to see her.” 

He trembled as he spoke. The Princess rose, laughing. 

44 Well, this is a strange garden,” she said. 44 I did 
think my Rose-Mallow was sensible. What is it,” she 
cried aloud, 44 what is this Love, for which all Nature 
pines ? ” 

There was no answer ; but the sun shot down a handful 
of golden sunbeams upon her face, which dazzled her and 
made her laugh again. 

“ Ah ! thou wilt know ere long,” said the Rose-Mallow, 
much hurt at her want of sympathy. 44 Do not think, 
Princess, that the most beautiful of women will be allowed 
to go unscathed.” 

Myra threw her arms around him, to make up for her 
unfeeling remarks, and then in soft tones advised him to 
climb the wall and look over at his lady-love. 


46 A Child of the Winds. 

u But it will take so long, and be so bard ! ” he replied. 

“ Still, thy reward may be great, sweet flower. Look 
higher than the homely flowers of thy home, for the 
blossom beyond the walls may be far more rare, and 
may outshine them all.” 

So the Rose-Mallow prepared to follow the Princess’s 
advice, and to leave the lilies, and lupins, and all the 
sweets of the garden behind him. 

As Myra turned to go, she noticed that the Violet had 
drooped and lay panting. She hurried to fetch it some 
water, for which it returned her modest thanks. She 
wondered what ailed it to faint in the cool of the morning, 
when the earth was yet damp with early rain. Then it 
struck her that the Violet’s love for the Rose-Mallow would 
be of no use if he found the Evening Primrose. u And I 
suppose that would make her unhappy,” she said aloud, 
as she plucked a bunch of heartsease and placed it in her 
dress, the wonder in her eyes deepening into an expression 
of grave, severe thoughtfulness. 

III. 

Protected by a hedge of myrtle, in the heart of a mighty 
forest, Love had fashioned his bower. His couch was 
strewn with honey-flowers and rose-leaves. Stately red 


A Child of the Winds. 


47 


chrysanthemums made splashes of crimson brilliance against 
the dark green of the scented myrtle. Pink carnations, 
roses of every hue, sweetbriar, ambrosia, balsams, forget- 
me-nots, and every flower sacred to the great god, Love 
grew in profusion, to make his bower into a resting-place 
worthy of him. 

He lay tossing on his fragrant couch in a fit of anger. 
For some time Princess Myra’s disdain of all the great 
princes and nobles whom he had sent to woo her had 
offended him deeply. But on this particular afternoon his 
messengers had informed him of the maiden’s morning 
interview with the Rose-Mallow, and of the question she had 
asked with regard to himself. Unable to forget the 
Princess’s impertinence, he lay brooding and fretting, until 
the position of the sun warned him that the day was passing 
away. 

“ What is this Love for which the whole earth pines ? ” 
he murmured, as he bounded from his couch into a cluster 
of forget-me-nots. “ Ah ! I will teach thee. Thou shalt 
learn, ere the day is dead, what Love is. In the semblance 
of an earthly prince, I will woo thee myself. I will adore 
thee, sweet Myra, gaze into thine eyes, and pretend that 
there is only one woman in all the world for me. I will 
do as men do — pet thee, and coax thee, and win thy 


48 A Child of the Winds. 

affections by the thousand little nothings that make up a 
courtship. When I have conquered thee, and thy heart 
is mine, I will break it and trample it under foot, and 
leave thee all thy life a remembrance of the power of Love. 
Thou shalt never hear sweet music, but a desperate longing 
for my presence shall come over thee. Thou shalt never see 
a rose, but thy heart shall bleed. The sight of a lark, 
winging his morning flight heavenwards, shall draw tears 
to thy weary eyes. Ah ! woe betide the mortal maid when 
Eros is her lover ! ” 

u These,” he said, choosing a hundred chrysanthemums, 
4< shall be my escort.” 

As he spoke, the flowers were transformed into a hundred 
gallant knights ; their dresses were of crimson brocade, and 
on their heads were caps of chrysanthemum petals. Then 
Love took up honey-flowers and rose-leaves, and changed 
them into a suit of rich purple silk. 

Meanwhile the King had been having a far from plea- 
sant interview with Her Majesty on the subject of their 
daughter. 

u Indeed, it is not my fault,” the Queen had said. 44 1 
cannot help it if our child’s heart is still whole.” 

“But, my dear love, thou never givest her any coun^' 1 . 
If thou wert to tell her that it is meet she should marry 


A Child of the Winds. 


49 

one of the many lords who desire her I feel assured she 
would do thy will.” 

The Queen burst into tears. Knowing the girl’s parent- 
age as she did, how could she advise her to accept a mortal 
for her husband ? Yet she dared not tell the King of 
Myra’s birth ; she must always keep the hateful secret to 
herself. Oh that she had chosen the straight path when 
the choice had been hers ! 

The King was distressed to see her weep. But just at 
that moment he observed a small fleet with crimson sails 
flying up the river towards the royal landing-stage. 

“Why, that must be another suitor for our daughter’s 
hand ! ” he exclaimed. 

All the flowers remarked the pretty boats scudding along 
in the late afternoon sunlight. The Rose-Mallow alone 
was too busily employed in climbing the wall to observe 
what circumstance was disturbing the flower-garden. 
The ladies of the palace, the lords and the pages, 
were aware of the visit of the Prince long before he had 
landed. The household was greatly agitated. Their 
Majesties hurried to the audience chamber, to find the 
Court already assembled to receive the high-born visitor. 
Myra alone was unconscious of the advent of another suitor. 
Had she known of it, the fact would only have annoyed her 


4 


50 A Child of the Winds. 

somewhat, and made her eyes a trifle more wistful than they 
usually were. 

Suddenly the Queen entered the Princess’s room tremb- 
ling with excitement. 

“ My child, my child 1 thou must proceed at once to the 
audience chamber, by the King’s commands. A great 
Prince has come to woo thee.” 

Myra was robed in a loose gown of fine linen, her 
dark hair hung upon her shoulders, and a book which she 
had been reading lay open on her knee. 

“ Oh, come, let me clothe thee I ” cried the Queen, assist- 
ing the girl to her feet and hurrying her into the adjoining 
room, where, with nervous fingers, she bound up the thick 
hair in embroidered bands of opals and diamonds. Then, 
opening a cedar chest which stood at the end of the 
apartment, she drew forth a dress, and was about to slip 
it over the Princess’s head, when Myra started back in 
amazement. 

“My royal Queen, I cannot wear that garment,” she 
said. u Why, it cost the King, my father, over a 
hundredweight in gold. I was warned to keep it only for 
great occasions.” 

“ Foolish girl, is not thy betrothal a great occasion ? Ah ! 
I do not jest. Pause until thou hast seen the youth who 


A Child of the Winds. 51 

awaits thee. He is handsome beyond all men that even I, 
old as I am, have ever looked upon.” 

The Princess was struck by the Queen’s enthusiasm. She 
allowed herself to be attired in the superb robe which 
had been a present from the King. It was fashioned of 
rich silk, and had a design of lilies round the hem and on 
the sleeves, each flower being worked with opals and 
diamonds. Twenty maidens had been employed for twenty 
months embroidering the costly pattern. In sunlight the 
fabric was pale sea-green, bordering on silver-grey ; but 
when the sky was dull there were faint purple tones 
in its folds, like the soft bloom on the fruit of the 
plum-tree. 

When Myra entered the hall a murmur ot admiration 
fell from the lips of the assembly. She had never looked 
so lovely. She seemed to stand in a halo of light ; the 
opals on her dress reflected themselves in the diamonds, 
making a haze of pale fantastic colour, strange as it was 
beautiful. As she entered, the Prince was talking apart 
with the King ; so she had a moment in which to observe 
him before he knew of her advent. He appeared to be a 
merry youth, with golden curls and blue eyes that were 
full of mirth and the love of fun. He turned and saw 
her, and fell on one knee and took her hand, lifting up 


52 


A Child of the Winds 


his face to hers. Then, as he gazed upon her, the 
brightness and the mirth that had illuminated his lovely 
countenance died away. She looked down to see his 
eyes filled with a new meaning, a wondrous expression 
of mingled tenderness and pain shadowed them. She 
looked down to see large tears furrowing his cheeks. She 
looked down to love him ! 


IV. 

u In good sooth, sweet lady, thou art beautiful beyond all 
women that I, old as I am, have ever seen,” said the Prince, 
in curious repetition of the Queen’s description of himself, 
as he and Myra walked in the palace gardens that night. 

“ But thou art not old, thou art very young, my lord ; 
and perhaps it is thy lack of experience which makes 
thee think so,” answered the Princess, modestly hanging 
her head and seeking to hide her face. 

A deep shadow passed over his countenance, and his 
heart bled at the thought of the pain that his trick would 
cause the maiden by his side. Of the everlasting wound 
it would inflict on him he dared not think. 

“ And thou hast lived here all thy life ? ” he asked, 
desirous of changing the subject. 

“All my life,” she answered. 
























■ 































- 















































































A Child of the Winds. 


55 


“ And art thou quite happy ? ” 

“Good sir, I thought I was; I never wished to change 
my lot until to-day.” 

“ Ah ! I have heard of thy dislike of the many suitors 
who sought thy hand.” 

“ Not my dislike, but my indifference. I did not 
believe in Love. Though it was all around me in Nature, 
still I had never known it ; and there was something 
so imperfect, so earthly, in the great princes who wished 
to marry me. Until to-day I was blindly ignorant.” 

“ Until to-day!” reiterated the Prince, gazing at her with 
eyes indescribably tender and yearning. 

“ But since thou hast asked my father for my hand, 
and he hath given his consent, I may tell thee all I feel, 
may I not ? ” 

“ Ah, sweet Princess ! I know all that thou dost feel ; 
I feel all that thou wouldst say.” 

Then they were silent for some time. The moon shone, 
and the floor of heaven was studded with silver stars. The 
flowers were asleep, excepting the Evening Primrose. 
Myra saw her in the arms of Night, and heard their 
gentle voices. She thought of the Rose-Mallow, and 
pondered with new-born sympathy on the Violet’s pain. 

“ Pear one, we must part now,” said the Prince, as they 


56 A Child of the Winds. 

paused before the palace gates. 44 But ere thou goest, tell 
me, wouldst thou be very unhappy if I never came to 
thee again ? ” 

A cold fear entered the Princess’s heart. 

44 My dear lord,” she said, 44 I was only born to-day. 
My past was not life, therefore I am as a little child, and 
cannot answer thee with wisdom ; but inquire of the 
flowers, whether they would be sad should the sun rise 
no more. Ah 1 would they not perish ? Would not the 
world lie down and die from cold ? Then, good my lord, 
and thou lovest me, ask me not so cruel a question.” 

44 It is fate,” he murmured, as he held her in his arms 
and soothed away her pain with tender words. 

The Princess awoke the next morning to find the Queen 
seated beside her bed. Myra was too much in love to 
notice things which would have impressed her under 
ordinary circumstances, else she would have thought her 
royal mother’s manner unnecessarily excitable, and would 
have wondered what secret trouble had suddenly so changed 
the stately Queen’s appearance. 

44 My child, thy lover waits for thee in thy workroom, 
therefore rise and robe thee. But before thou goest to 
him I want thee to refuse the gift with which he will 
present thee. I am sure it will bring thee ill-luck.” 


A Child of the Winds. 57 

“ But good my mother, the Prince loves me too well 
to offer me aught that could be a source of sorrow to me. 
What is the gift ? ” 

“ It is an iEolian harp,” said the Queen, in a whisper. 

“ An iEolian harp 1 I have never seen one. Methinks 
it must be a sweet instrument.” 

The Queen sighed heavily. She feared that her sin 
against truth would overtake her at last. 

Myra found the Prince and his attendants engaged in 
fixing the wind harp outside her casement. 

“ There,” he said, as he bent his knee and saluted her 
hand, “when I am away this will discourse to thee of 
love.” 

“ But why place it outside the casement, good my lord ? 
I cannot learn to play upon it there.” 

“ Sweet Princess, thou couldst never play upon it, nor 
could I. The Wind alone can draw music from its heart. 
When he sweeps the strings the melody is as the very 
breath of love, so tender and yet so wailing is the strain.” 

“The Wind!” exclaimed the Princess. “Hast ever 
seen the Wind ? ” 

“ Ay, and romped with him and flown with him over 
sea and earth.” 

“ Ah ! now thou art pleased to be merry, as thou wert 


58 A Child of the Winds. 

yesterday when I saw thee talking to the King, ere we had 
met. Thy countenance was full of mirth and sunlight then. 
Tell me, why art thou changed ? Wherefore art thou 
sad ? ” 

“ Dear one, I am not sad when I have thy companionship. 
It is only the thought of losing thee that shadows my face.” 

So they passed out of the chamber into the garden. 

Thus the time wore away. Summer began to wane. 
The nights grew longer and the days more brief. 

The King’s impatience to see his daughter married 
increased hourly. Yet the Prince daily put him oft with 
excuses when asked to fix the date of the wedding. At 
length His Majesty grew angry at the delay. 

li It is time,” he said to Myra, “ that thou wast settled 
in life. We are old, and in all probability have little longer 
to live. Thy good lord seemeth all he should be. In grace 
of form and beauty of face he stands unsurpassed. But 
methinks, for all that, he means thee ill.” 

" Indeed, my father, thou art wrong to say so,” replied 
the Princess, with difficulty suppressing her anger. u He 
is truth itself, and he loves me.” 

u But he will not marry thee 1 ” the King muttered. 

" There, again, thou art mistaken, my lord. He will 
marry me to-day— at once, so thou stand pleased withal 1 ” 


A Child of die Winds. 


59 


“ Bring him before us, then, and let us hear his vow.” 

Myra made a deep obeisance, and left the King’s closet 

Immediately she had gone His Majesty despatched a page 
to summon the Queen and Council. They were all assembled 
before Myra entered with her lover. She had not told 
him for what reason she had been sent in search of him ; 
therefore, when he saw the grave faces of those present, 
he was surprised. The King rose and addressed him in 
dignified words, Myra making her way to her royal mother’s 
side. 

“Good my lord, our daughter tells us that thou art 
willing thy nuptials should be celebrated as soon as we 
consider meet. We have conferred with these grave 
counsellors, and they think with us that the ceremony 
should take place to-day.” 

“To-day, most powerful sovereign ! Is not to-day some- 
what soon ? Methinks it were not well to hurry the 
Princess.” 

“ Our child hath given her consent, noble sir. Hast thou 
not, my daughter ? ” 

“ An’ it please my dear lord, I have,” was the low 
reply. 

There was a long silence in the chamber. Every eye was 
fixed on Myra’s lover. He stood gazing on the beautiful 


6o 


A Child of the Winds. 


face of her whom he worshipped— a gloomy figure in his 
purple garments, his eyes full of infinite sorrow. 

“It seemeth that the Prince hesitateth,” said the King, 
in a threatening voice. 

Myra left the Queen, and with bent head approached her 
love. 

“ My good knight,” she said, “ methinks I do but dream ; 
or, if I am awal- e, then hast thou changed, or some trouble 
hath befallen thee. Speak ; my father awaits thine answer. 
Shall our wedding be to-day ? ” 

“ Fair lady, nothing could change my love, nor hath any 
trouble befallen me ; and yet, our marriage ceremony cannot 
be solemnised to-day.” 

“ Then to-morrow, good sir,” said the King, “ or the week 
after ? ” 

“Your Majesty, the daughters of earth will never see the 
celebration of our nuptials.” 

The King turned grey with wrath, and gasped for breath 
as if death was upon him. The Council rose ; the Queen 
rushed to her royal consort’s side. Myra sank down in a 
heap at her lover’s feet. He knelt beside her for one 
brief second. 

“ Forgive me,” he murmured, ,# forgive me, in that I 
shall suffer eternally, whilst thy pain will end in the grave. 


A Child of the Winds. 61 

Farewell, dear one ; would I were mortal for thy sake. 
Love bids thee farewell.” 

When the King recovered his senses the Prince had 
disappeared. The country was scoured for miles round, but 
not a trace of him nor his followers could be found. No 
member of the royal household noticed a hundred beautiful 
red chrysanthemums, which had suddenly rooted themselves 
in the palace garden. 


V. 

Myra wandered about the precincts of her home like one 
distraught with sorrow. The sun of her life had gone out, 
and left all dark and cold and desolate. The flowers had 
lost their rare colours, and had clothed themselves in sombre 
tints of red and purple. The river had lost its merry voice, 
and went sobbing through the grounds. Many days passed, 
and life became one long memory. With brooding and 
sorrowing over her lost Love she grew pale and thin. 
Her eyes became wan and hollow, and misery closed her 
lips. 

Some weeks after the Prince had disappeared she visited 
her garden. The flowers had grown tall and straggling, 
the walks were weedy, the lawn had lost its velvet softness, 


62 


A Child of the Winds 


and all was desolation. As she walked, weeping, beside 
the once brilliant border, she saw the Rose-Mallow lying 
half-dead across her path. 

“ Alas, sweet flower ! what aileth thee ? ” she said, lifting 
his head and' looking into his face. 

“ My dear mistress, I am hurt to death,” he murmured. 

“ Speak. Tell me thy sorrow.” 

“ I worked by day and by night to climb the wall of the 
garden, and after much labour I reached the summit, just 
as the sun was setting. There I saw the lady whose 
melodious voice had won my heart. Ah, fair Princess ! 
she was more beautiful than dawn or daylight. I gazed 
at her, and told her that I loved her ; but she would 
not even look at me ; she spread forth her pale blossoms 
w T ith sweet pride. 1 1 love the Night alone, and only 
raise my face to his,’ she said. Then I drooped and 
drooped with pain. I am indeed hurt to death,” he 
moaned. 

She threw her arms around him, while her tears fell on 
his poor faded leaves; and when the moon had risen her 
favourite lay dead in the once happy garden. 

The Princess fetched her golden spade, and dug his grave 
where he had lived. Then she bent down and plucked a 
little cluster of flowers from the Violet whose love had been 


A Child of the Winds. 63 

wasted, to place upon the earth above his resting-place ; 
and from each blossom a tear-drop flowed from the Violet’s 
heart. 

" Ah ! if I had not advised him to seek his love away 
from those with whom his life had been passed,” moaned 
Myra. “ He could have cared for one of the flowers in 
the garden before he saw the Evening Primrose; his life 
was spoilt through my counsel, and ended in pain. And, 
oh I that I had been as other women, and had taken a 
knight of my father’s court for husband. If only I had 
put up with little imperfections, then this trouble had not 
come upon me. But now life is over, and I can never 
know happiness again.” 

That night Fate told the North Wind the story of his 
child. On his mountain home he learned of the Queen’s 
treachery, of Myra’s early life, and of Love’s hateful 
blunder. 

Spreading his powerful wings, by Fate’s command, he 
flew earthwards, to bear his daughter to the halls of that 
dread arbiter of destiny. He was oppressed with sorrow. 
The snow-flowers hid their heads as he rushed, sobbing, 
down the mountain ; the earth shook at his voice as he 
shrieked through village and valley ; the dead leaves sighed 
as he scattered them in thousands before him. But when 


64 A Child of the Winds. 

he gained the palace gardens and approached his daughter's 
window his fierce sorrow abated, and he touched the strings 
of her harp with gentle fingers. The first strains were more 
like the voice of the South Wind than that of the wilder 
North. Then followed long wailing strains of melody, as of 
a soul in distress. 

Myra, sitting brooding on her misery, became strangely 
roused, as she heard the weird instrument played upon by 
a master hand. Often the sad music seemed to be the 
voice of her lover ; then the tones softened to a sigh ; 
it was the Rose-Mallow’s dying sob. 

An overmastering wish seized her to open the casement. 
She must admit those pleading tones, or her heart would 
break. Unable to quell the desire, she threw wide the 
window. 

There stood a tall, winged man. His shaggy hair was 
heavy and black, his face was gaunt and wild. He was 
sweeping the harp-strings with long, bony fingers. Strange 
and uncouth and terrible as he looked, there was such 
strength about the great figure, such power in the face, 
that the Princess, though terror-stricken, was drawn 
towards him. And when he saw her leaning from her 
casement, so gentle an expression crossed his worn visage, 
that her fear of him departed instantly, and she said : — 


r 



mmmm 


11 ? 


mmm 


g;- 


i|p 




. . . y 

■ 






' •• 


4^*’ ft 




5 












* 





























/ 

































tl ' 














% 








• » 


I 









. 


# 
































A Child of the Winds. 67 

“I know thee, great master. Thou art the Wind, and 
thou hast met my Love. Ah, in mercy take me to 
him ! ” 

“ Wilt thou not be afraid to entrust thyself to my arms ? ” 
he whispered. 

“ Good sir, carry me all over the earth, through frozen 
worlds of endless ice, so thou layest me at my lord’s feet at 
last, and I shall not know a moment’s fear. I love him 1 ” 
she said simply. 

The Wind clasped her in his arms and flew away, lulling 
her to sleep as he went 

When the Princess awoke she was standing in a gloomy 
cavern. The walls were of black onyx. A stream of crystal 
water ran gurgling at her feet. 

When her eyes became more accustomed to the haze and 
dimness of the place, she saw a sight which made her wish 
to shriek aloud ; but her voice seemed to have gone, and she 
stood powerless and terror-stricken. As she gazed a light 
seemed to break upon her mind. 

Fate, robed in lowering mists, sat gazing into a divining 
glass, with keen, prophetic eyes ; with her right hand she 
held Love in strong and terrible grasp. In the crouching, 
penitent figure, Myra recognised, with bursting heart, that 
her Prince and Love were one. Then she became conscious 


68 


A Child of the Winds. 


of the deep voice of Fate ringing through the gloom in 
threatening tones. 

u Thou didst think thou couldst play with her affections 
as thou dost with those of a mortal maid, couldst win her 
love and break her heart by thy desertion ! But, trickster 
as thou art, in thine own net art thou caught. See, where 
each tear she lets fall, a lily springs.” 

Myra’s eyes followed Fate’s pointing finger. Love looked 
up and saw the Princess standing in a cluster of white 
lilies. 

lt Know that she is a spirit, immortal as thyself ; a child 
of the Winds, nursed on the salt Sea’s breast. Therefore, 
as thou only canst feel punishment in her agony, she shall 
be called Grief. Henceforth, in all Love there shall be 
much of bitterness. Parting from the thing loved shall 
be the keenest pang of human pain. She shall visit her 
foster-parents but once again, and mingle her sobs with 
theirs. She shall pursue thee through the ages, and fear 
of her coming shall lessen thy rapture. Disappointment, 
despair, and misery, shall walk in her train. Man shall 
weep tears of blood in that thou hast created Grief 1 ” 

Love shrieked aloud in pain, and flinging aside the cruel 
hand of Fate, threw his arms about the shrinking girl. 
They stood in the misty gloom together, his brilliant form 





A Child of the Winds 


7 1 

regained its strength. Grief lifted her brimming eyes to 
his and caught their power. 

A great wave of tenderness broke over the mournful 
face of Fate ; her calm glance rested prophetically on the 
two figures as she addressed them for the last time. 

li But her love of thee shall endure until the Lilies of 
Grief are lost in the Roses of Love ; for Love shall be 
king of Grief, and of Time, and of Eternity.” 




Xhe F LOWER ThAT 
RGACIOCD 
The 

Sun lands 


*N° STAR »S EVER I_°vr WL ONCE HAVE SEEN 
WE ALWAYS MAY de what we might have been 
Adelaide Procter 


I. 


T HOUGH only a miserable little waif, born in sorrow 
and nurtured in poverty, George Ermen had resolved 
to be a great man. 

He earned six shillings a week at sorting rags and 
paper, adding frequently to this a smaller sum gained by 
cleaning pots at a public-house. It was a miserable 
pittance. He and his mother could hardly be said to live 
upon it, they only existed; and they found this still more 
difficult when George’s father, a lazy ne’er-do-well, came 
to visit them. 

The boy and his mother dwelt in a garret in Paradise 
Court. It was a bare, miserable room, its only furniture 
an old iron bedstead, a rickety table, and two chairs. Open- 


72 



The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 73 

ing out of the attic was a tiny chamber with a mattress 
in one corner, on which George slept. He had no bed- 
clothes, and was in the habit of covering himself with papers 
during the chill winter nights. 

On the wall hung a small plaster crucifix. A sprig of 
box was thrust through the ring by which the cross was 
suspended. The window looked out upon a wilderness of 
chimneys and grimy tenement houses. 

It seemed to George that God had been very good to 
him, although he was poor and ragged and half starved, 
for besides his old mother, whom he loved above every- 
thing, he had three good friends — Father Francis, the 
Roman Catholic priest ; Miss Brand, who was devoting both 
time and money to the suffering poor in the district; and 
Maggie Reed, his little sweetheart, who was as poverty- 
stricken and as tattered as himself. 

George sang in the choir at the church. He possessed 
a beautiful voice, and the priest felt sure that were it possible 
to procure him an efficient musical training he would have 
a future. But it seemed rash to even hope for a chance for 
the boy among the squalor and misery and sin which 
surrounded the poor. Father Francis, however, did not 
lose heart, because he was a good man, believing in God, 
and feeling convinced that He would stretch forth His 


74 The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

hand to the waif and help him in His own good time. 
The lad himself was even more hopeful than the priest, 
because he was young, and had resolved that death alone 
should prevent the fulfilment of his vow. 

Not that poor George Ermen had much idea of what 
the term “ a great man ” meant, excepting that they usually 
dressed in frock coats, wore gaiters over their boots, and 
drove about in a carriage, all of which seemed very 
pleasant and most desirable to the bare-footed waif. 

Strangely enough, he was frequently pondering over very 
material things when he sang his best and when his eyes 
seemed most dreamy. 

“What were you a-thinking of this mornin’ in church 
when you was singin’ the Ave Maria ? ” his mother had 
once inquired. 

“ Why, didn’t I sing it well ? ” he asked anxiously. 

“ Yaas, better than ever before, and yer faice looked loike 
an angers.” 

“ Well, I was promisin’ God that if ever I got rich enough 
to ride about in a carriage like the lords do that come and 
lay foundation stones and opens schools and things, I’d 
invite all the little children what’s so miserable to tea and 
muffins.” 

Mrs. Ermen smiled sadly. She had no belief in her son 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 75 

ever rising to be anything better than a wretched waif, 
fated to live and die in Paradise Court. But as long as he 
was honest, and brave, and true to his friends, she must not 
complain. She was content, almost happy indeed, when 
she looked around her and saw boys of George’s age 
swearing and fighting and drinking, while George was sober, 
well behaved, and industrious. 

Maggie Reed knew in her young soul that George would 
surely live to be a great man, and often when they roamed 
about the weary streets together, she would cheer him 
with her childish confidence. 

“ We’ll live on ’Ampstead ’Eath, George, when you’re rich 
and we’re married, at one of them big ’ouses by the pond, 
and we’ll ’ave donkey rides and bicycles and things.” 

“ Yes, darling,” George would answer. 

By the advice of Father Francis they often spent hours 
in the parks and squares, where the air was sweeter than 
that of Paradise Court ; but frequently George’s little sweet- 
heart grew so tired that he had to carry her on his back 
most of the way hoinc again 

It was a cold day in early spring. Mrs. Ermen sat 
shivering in a corner of their garret, when her boy 
bounded into the room carrying a geranium i* a 
pot. 


76 The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

“ Mother, mother,” he cried in wild excitement, “ Miss 
Brand is gettin’ up a geranium show ! It’s ter come off in 
July. Four hundred plants have been given out to the 
children this morning. They are to keep them, water them, 
attend to them, make them grow and flower, and when 
the day comes round for the show the plants must be taken 
to the schoolroom, and the best will get a prize.” 

“Who is ter judge?” asked Mrs. Ermen, catching 
George’s excitement. 

“A lord!” 

“A lord?” 

“Yes, one of them that wears gaiters over their boots. 
And I am going to win the first prize ! ” he added firmly, 
his sharp face wearing an expression of happy anticipation. 

“I ’ope you will, my dear,” she answered, kissing him, 
and breathing a prayer from her poor ignorant soul for the 
good woman whose unselfish devotion had brought that 
look into her boy’s face. 

Time passed, and the bitter, easterly winds proved to be 
more than Mrs. Ermen could bear. She became too weak 
to rise, and when George grew alarmed she tried to comfort 
him by saying that she felt warmer in bed ; and when June 
came she should be about again, and he must not distress 
himself for hei sake. 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 77 

Supposing she should die I Men and women died 
frequently in Paradise Court. Their bodies were carried out 
of the squalid dwellings and rattled over the streets to the 
crowded burial ground. The thought smote him painfully, 
and made a burning flush mount to his face. She must not 
die ! What would riches and greatness mean to him unless 
she were there to share in his good fortune ? 


II. 

The geranium was not at all happy in her new quarters. 
Although George attended to her wants most carefully she 
still thought with bitter regret of the greenhouse where she 
had been reared, and of the old gardener who had ministered 
to her. Here on the window sill of George’s attic 
thousands of smuts settled daily upon her leaves, and the 
air was heavy. So great was her discomfort that she would 
have most certainly ceased to live had not a sunbeam lost his 
way among the narrow courts of the city, and while darting 
in and out of the grimy streets in his endeavours to find the 
sun, espied the unhappy flower. He immediately climbed 
up his golden ladder, and rested among the broad green 
leaves, much to her delight. 

She confided her pitiful history to this new-found friend, 


78 The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

who was so kind and sympathetic that the geranium grew 
warm and happy. Presently the sun shone out in the 
murky sky, and immediately the sunbeam glided along 
his golden thread and rejoined his parent. He did not, 
however, forsake the plant which had sheltered him, but 
frequently visited her, so that she forgot her struggle for 
life, and grew into a fine healthy geranium, much to the 
delight of her young master. 

As time passed George began to realise that his mother 
would never rise from her bed again. Father Francis had 
gently told him that there was little hope of her recovery, 
and that when the great blow fell upon him he must 
reconcile himself to the will of the Almighty. 

The poor waif suffered many hours of agony alone in his 
garret. Kneeling before the crucifix, he would beg God to 
spare the one thing he loved in all the world. 

41 I have so few comforts, dear Lord,” he would say, 44 no 
clothes, little food ; I can stand want if only you will not 
take her away.” But when he was tired out with pain, he 
would raise his lips to the pierced feet, and kissing them, 
murmur, “ Thy will be done.” 

His imagination had so often realised the picture that one 
morning, on finding his mother dead in her bed, he was 
hardly shocked. 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 79 

The doctor said that death had resulted from syncope, 
accelerated by want of nourishment and neglect. 

So the waif was left alone. His bright look departed. 
The wish for greatness was forgotten in his sorrow, and 
even his little sweetheart failed to comfort him. 

On hearing of George’s sad plight his father returned to 
live with him. The boy’s saddened face touched Ermen’s 
hard heart, and for a time the son’s misery was alleviated 
by his parent’s kindness. His father was decently dressed, 
and evidently had a little money, for food was more plentiful 
in the garret than it had ever been during George’s 
remembrance. 

Thanks to the sunbeam’s care, the geranium continued to 
thrive marvellously, and as show day drew near she 
approached her prime. 

Miss Brand gave George a clean collar and a decent 
.jacket, and Father Francis bought him his first pair of shoes 
for the great occasion. 

On the morning of the distribution he was up at five 
o’clock, for at that early hour he had been told to take his 
geranium to the schoolroom, and enter it for the competition. 

Very gently he watered the leaves, taking care that not a 
drop should fall upon one of the five brilliant blossoms. As 
he stood admiring the plant he was surprised to hear foot- 


8o The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 


steps in the adjoining room. His father had been away 
some days. He thought he must have returned earlier 
than he had expected. He therefore hurried to the door, and 
opened it, a joyful expression on his face. But it was the 
landlady, who stood there holding a dirty-looking letter in 
her hand. 

“ Look ’ere, sonnie, your father’s been took ter gaol. ’E 
was on ’is way ’ome when the perlice took ’im in charge for 
that big jewel robbery at Manchester. ’E’s wrote me this 
letter,” she said, pausing to unfold the dirty piece of paper, 
while George stood pale to the lips with terror. 

“’E sends you this message: ‘Tell my son not ter grieve 
for me. It’s all quite true what they says against me. I am 
a scamp, and always have been.’ ” 

“ 'E’ll get a lifer, that’s a certainty,” she observed to the 
lodgers downstairs when she had left the horror-stricken 
boy alone. 

George couldn’t weep at this last blow. He had not shed 
a tear since his mother’s death. The agony in his heart was 
therefore all the more unbearable. He clenched his hands 
in pain. 

Hours passed, the bitterest he had ever spent. Whatever 
suffering the future held for him he never experienced such 
anguish again. 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 8 1 


At last he raised his head. His face was white, his eyes 
were heavy and dull. 

“ Everything is against me,” he moaned. " My mother’s 
dead ; my father, who had become so kind, taken and thrown 
into gaol. Why should I suffer hunger and cold and 
disgrace and beggary ? Other boys, through no merit of 
theirs, are born rich. Why wasn’t I a lord’s son instead 
of a waif of the streets? Why should my mother die of 
neglect, when others have all they need ? Oh 1 I’ll ask God 
to kill me ; death ain’t so very terrible. I’ve seen lots of boys 
of my age fished out of the river. It’s only a few moments’ 
pain, and Jesus wouldn’t be ’ard on a little chap what’s ben 
drove to it.” 

The geranium trembled with fear as she heard the boy’s 
wild words. She spread out her blossoms and endeavoured 
to attract his attention. 

Suddenly the garret was brilliantly illuminated. The 
sunbeam had glided down his golden ladder, and stood on 
the window sill. 

George was amazed. He must be dreaming 1 What was 
this beautiful tiny creature enveloped in a haze of glory ? 

il The angels are sad when you despair, little boy. Gather 
your energies. Receive your prize 1 You are ungrateful 
to the flower which has grown into so beautiful a plant for 

6 


8 2 The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

your sake. You are ungrateful to your God thus to abandon 
hope when you possess one of His greatest gifts.” 

41 What gift ? ” 

“ Youth, a mpgic watchword that can open the enchanted 
gates in the land of genius.” 

“Genius?” said the boy wonderingly. “I have never 
heard of it.” 

“ Live your life. Lose not a moment. At your years 
time flies. Be a great and a good man. Persevere. Out 
of the mire of this wilderness a golden flower shall rear its 
head, and grow in beauty day by day. It may even reach 
the Sun-lands.” 


III. 

The schoolroom looked like a little paradise to the poor 
waifs assembled there. Many flags hung from the roof, and 
festoons of evergreens decorated the walls. A raised plat- 
form was covered with scarlet cloth. On this were many 
well-dressed ladies, the seat of honour being filled by Lord 
Eltonville, who had consented to distribute the prizes. The 
geraniums were displayed around the room. Some amongst 
them were frail and sickly looking, — they had not been 
able to thrive in their squalid and sunless abodes, — others 



> 









The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 85 

appeared more promising, and a few amongst the number 
had grown strong and handsome. 

Of the four hundred plant cuttings thirty alone had not 
been returned for competition. 

At one side of the platform was a table upon which the 
prizes were arranged. They consisted of workboxes, paints, 
tops, knives, drums, books, blotters, aprons, pencils, etc. 

Miss Brand, much distressed at the news of Ermen’s 
arrest, and at his son’s nonappearance, had told the story 
to some of the visitors, and a great deal of interest and 
sympathy were excited in his favour. 

Father Francis had just uncovered the prizes. The crowd 
of children pushed and scrambled to get a look at the good 
things ; but at a word from their lady chief even the most 
turbulent grew quiet. 

Some lovely countenances were discernible among the 
little gathering. Under ordinary circumstances they would 
hardly have been noticed for the dirt and grime which 
covered them ; but this was a gala day, and, thanks to 
Miss Brand’s kind care, each child’s face and hands had 
been washed, and their white collars lent an air of cleanli- 
ness even to the most ragged and worn dress. 

Suddenly there was a stir in the room. A boy was 


86 The Flower tint Reached Sun-lands 


seen advancing through the crowd holding a magnificent 
geranium in his arms. 

Father Francis welcomed George in a quiet, kindly way. 
Mis plant was placed upon the platform for inspection, and 
it was universally agreed that had it been in time for the 
competition George would have taken the first prize. 

Grieved that her little friend should be too late, Miss 
Brand hastily unfastened a silver compass from her watch 
chain and gave it to Lord Eltonville, to whom she said a 
few private words. 

The atmosphere was stifling, and George was faint for 
want of food. Many of the children’s mothers were present 
holding infants in their arms. Their worn, anxious faces 
beamed with delight as Lord Eltonville rose to distribute 
the prizes. 

“ George Ermen, in consideration of your misfortune, 
Miss Brand wishes to overlook the fact that your geranium 
was not entered for the competition this morning. I have, 
therefore, the great pleasure of awarding you a special extra 
prize, the presentation of which shall have precedence in 
our day’s business.” 

George walked to the platform and received the pretty 
silver compass, a flush of pride and delight colouring his 
pale cheek. 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 87 

“Let me advise you to cultivate smilax round your 
window,” added his lordship, doubtless thinking of his 
magnificent greenhouses, and little realising the misery and 
squalor in which the waifs of the great city dwelt. 

“ Smilax 1 ” murmured George wonderingly. 

“ Yes, it is a beautiful creeper, and ought to grow nicely 
rou»d your window and make you quite a little bower.” 

The excitement of the children could no longer be 
curbed. Miss Brand was heartily glad when the distri- 
bution was' over, and she could see the poor waifs happy 
with their little presents. It would be difficult to describe 
their joy. Many of their number had never possessed 
anything before. To have a book, a doll, a top, a pencil — 
something that was their very own — seemed like a delightful 
dream. 

Father Francis had resolved to strike a blow for his 
protege before the day was over. Just as Lord Eltonville 
was preparing to depart, he told him that there was a little 
chorister among his flock who had a lovely voice, and that 
if his lordship would oblige him by staying through the 
short prayer with which they were about to end the day’s 
pleasure he would hear the boy sing. 

The nobleman graciously complied, and stood, hat in hand, 
while the priest said a Paternoster &nd three Aves, thq 


88 The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 


children joining in fervently. Then Father Francis rose and 
sat at the harmonium. His lordship watched George take 
his place beside his spiritual director. He noticed the lad’s 
pale, worn face, his ragged clothes, and his air of utter help- 
lessness, and felt sorry that the good priest should have 
prevailed upon him to stay and witness the poor little 
fellow’s failure. 

There was not a s^und in the schoolroom. The grand 
ladies held their breath in pity. Miss Brand looked anxious. 
The children longed for the success of their gentle comrade, 
and Maggie’s heart beat with suppressed excitement. 
u Te Deurn Laudamus , te Dominum confitemur .” 

The voice seemed to pierce the heavens, so fresh and pure 
was its tone. Lord Eltonville’s heart stood still. The waifs 
face had changed with those first words of praise ; it had 
become illuminated with a great light, his insignificant 
little figure had gained a king’s dignity. 
u Te ceternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur ” 

Lord Eltonville’s imagination was fired by the music. 
He seemed to be in a little church of his own that was 
full of the perfume of incense. The low of distant oxen 
and the ripple of the river came through the open window. 
Ilis only son, who died at about George’s age, lay buried 
in the churchyard ; the small grave was yellow with early 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 


( 

C 


primroses. He, too, had an angel's voice, stilled for ever 
excepting in his father’s memory. 

tl Tu Rex glorice , Christe .” 

Tears fell from the nobleman’s eyes. Nor song of lark, 
nor rustle of waving grass, nor anything he had ever heard 
in all nature, had touched him so deeply as the waif’s 
rendering of that hymn of praise. 

As the last words died away Lord Eltonville stepped 
forward with outstretched hand ; but George’s strength 
was exhausted, the flush died away from his face, and he 
fell backwards into the priest’s arms. 

IV. 

Time and circumstances change men, some for good and 
some for ill. It is an acknowledged fact that success often 
spoils the best natures, although to those on whom Fortune 
seldom smiles, this is hard to realise. 

Thanks to Lord Eltonville’s generosity and kind care, 
George Ermen had become a great man. His wish had 
been gratified ; he had earned money and position. 

Twenty years had passed since the geranium show. The 
ragged waif of that day had owned a sweet, loving nature, 
which seemed lost in the great musician of St. James’s, 


go The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

His father had died in prison. His mother’s memory 
had scarcely survived. He never spoke of his early days, 
and looked upon them as a disgrace. Miss Brand’s name 
seldom occurred to him, Father Francis was forgotten, 
and Maggie Reed languished in poverty. 

In a gorgeous mansion, replete with every luxury, the 
musician sat at dinner with his young wife. The room 
was elegantly furnished ; the walls were hung with fine 
oil-paintings. The table was decorated with hot-house 
flowers. Outside it was snowing, and the night was 
bitterly cold. 

There was a great hush in the house. In the morning 
they had buried their only child. She had lived a year, 
and the first snow of winter had covered her grave. 

George Ermen’s selfish heart had been deeply touched 
by the loss of the little one, and somehow, when dinner 
was over, and he sat alone in his study, the remembrance 
of his childhood came over him like a forgotten strain of 
music. 

The snow, every now and then, fell hissing into the 
fire which blazed upon the hearth. 

The musician sat down to the organ and sang a few 
snatches from his Mass, which was to be given for the 
first time on Christmas Day. 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. g> 

1 1 There is a poor woman at the door, dear,” said his 
wife, coming in silently and standing near him, a pathetic 
figure in her black dress. 

‘ ‘Oh, Mary, I can't see anybody to-day,” he answered, 
placing his arm round her with unwonted gentleness. 

“Gordon tried to dismiss her, George; but she seemed 
so distressed, and begged so hard to be allowed to speak 
with you, that he came to me, and when I saw her ” 

“I understand, dear, I know your tender heart. If I gave 
in to you we shouldn’t have a penny in the world ” 

“We are so rich, George, we could give and give, 
and never feel it ” 

“Well, well, don’t cry, Mary. What is the woman’s 
name?” 

“Maggie Reed ! ” 

Maggie Reed. The little face seemed to rise up before 
him as an angel’s among the squalid surroundings of his 
childhood. 

“Let her come in, dear,” he said, with a tenderness in 
his voice that she had seldom heard of late. 

Presently Maggie stood before him, ragged and wet, 
her pale face worn with want and suffering. She must 
have been about twenty-eight, but she looked ten years 
older. 


92 The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

“ Mnggie 1 ” he cried, taking her hand, and placing her in 
a chair. 

“Mr. Ermen. I came ter ask yer somethin, not ter 
beg. Don’t think I’ve come ter beg. I want yer ter let 
Father Francis say yer Mass. ’E’s seen all about it in the 
papers, how it's ter be sung on Christmas Day. ’E’s an 
old man, and he would never ask yer ’imself, but *e always 
thinks of yer, and prays for yer.” 

“ And do you ? ” murmured George. 

What a low cur he had been to let this poor girl suffer 
all her life ! And his other humble friends, too, whom he 
had vowed never to forsake I 

“ I hev’ prayed for yer every night and morning since 
yer left us. I’ve said, 1 God bless him, and make him great/ 
Yer see, sir, women don’t forget.” 

V. 

It was Christmas Day. The church was filled with great 
and fashionable people. Among the gorgeous crowd were 
to be seen Miss Brand and Maggie Reed, the latter in a 
warm dress of grey cloth. 

Nearer the altar knelt George and his wife, his eyes 
often seeking the place where his friends were seated. 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 93 

Father Francis, assisted by two other priests, was 
officiating. 

George looked happier to-day. The presence of his hitherto 
forgotten companions had revived him, and the good father 
had spoken soothing words to him about his child’s death. 
George had been overcome, and unaccustomed tears coursed 
down his face as he clasped the father’s hand, and said, — 

" Ah 1 one’s early friends are true. Their love makes 
life worth having.” 

While the choir sang the Gloria in Excelsis , the musician’s 
thoughts had strayed to his early days. He was thinking 
of the sunbeam, and wondering whether its visit was a 
dream. If so, it must have been a dream straight from God, 
for that day had gained him his career. 

The golden flower had reared its head very near to the 
Sun-lands. Would it ever reach them ? 

He remembered a secret drawer in his escritoire, in which 
there was a small plaster crucifix, a faded geranium leaf, and 
a silver compass. He had kept these little relics, and yet 
he had ceased to remember the friends who had smoothed 
the rough pages of his childhood and pencilled hi^ name 
in the book of fortune. 

But Father Francis and Maggie and Miss Brand should 
be safe now ; they should know no further sorrow I 


94 The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

The sun burst forth in the winter sky, shone into the 
church, and brightened the gloomy corners. 

George knew well in his heart that it was not his care 
that had made the geranium thrive. The sunbeam which 
he pretended to treat as a dream had nourished it. How- 
ever, if that chapter in his life was blurred and misty, to- 
day’s was clear. 

The Mass that was being sung was his masterpiece. It 
was the outpouring of his soul. He would compose still 
greater religious works. What more wonderful theme could 
he have than a God’s agony 1 

11 Sanctus ! Sanctus / Sanctus /” muttered the priest. The 
consecration drew near, the people bent their heads. 

Still the musician remained lost in his thoughts. All over 
the world the advent of the Babe of Bethlehem was being 
celebrated. What a wonderful story it was ! The star in 
the East, the wise men, the Infant wrapped in swaddling 
clothes and cradled in a manger. His unrecorded childhood, 
His love for little children, the more forsaken and forlorn, 
the greater His love. And he had been rich and prosperous, 
and yet had never given a thought to those poor little waifs 
whose life he himself had once lived. Happy in the love of 
his own child, he had forgotten the woes of others. God 
had taken her away; but he would accept the Divine 


95 


The Flower that Reached Sun-lands. 

warning, and follow in the Divine footsteps. He would 
open his heart to the children of the poor ; he would clothe 
them and give them bread. 

The priest lifted the chalice. On the incense veiled altar 
the musician saw a sunbeam dart into the Holy Cup, and 
he heard the well-remembered voice breathe forth a glorious 
message, — 

“Clothe them and give them bread. In that last vow 
the flower has reached the Sun-lands.” 




THE 

OF I INNOCENCE 


* ^ Book of Verses underneath 
the d°ugh 

/\ Jug or W/ne. a L°af °f Dread 

and Thou 

Beside he singing in the 

Wilderness 
/\h .Wilderness were Paradise 
en°w f 

Omar Khayyam 


I. 

M ANY a year ago, in a land that was washed by the 
sea, there lived a King who had an only son whom 
he loved very dearly. 

Fertile gardens surrounded the palace. They extended 
for miles and miles. In the distance the sapphire sea 
looked like a calm lake. The gardens were rich in flowers, 
which bloomed all the year in this land of perpetual summer. 
There were lilies and violets, hyacinths, carnations, cycla- 
mens, and orchids ; but the rose was mistress of the land, 
and they called it the u Rose Islands.” The trees were 
filled with song-birds, and the air was fragrant with perfume 
tempered by the sea. 


96 


The Garden of Innocence. 97 

If ever mortal man was framed for happiness, the Prince 
of the Rose Islands was he — a youth of a gallant disposition, 
his golden hair hanging from beneath his jewelled cap, his 
brown eyes half hidden by their long lashes. His doublet 
was of white brocade, his hose and pointed shoes of silk ; 
he was the beau ideal of a prince in form and figure, and 
brave as he was amiable, two royal qualities. 

The King, his father, observing that he appeared to be 
sad when it seemed to him he should be most happy, asked 
Ulric what troubled him. 

“ I am lonely, so please your Grace, and I would fain have 
a friend.” 

“ I am thy friend, sweet son. Have I done aught that 
should forfeit me thy friendship ? ” 

“ My lord the King, I am always thine — thine in true 
obedience, thine in the sight of God, thine in filial love, 
but not in friendship. Though I dream of it night and day, 
I have never known friendship ; sometimes, indeed, I fear 
that it cannot exist,” replied the Prince sadly. 

“Nay, Ulric, in good sooth, thou art mistaken. Look 
about thee, in the palace. The noble lords of our Court, the 
high-born pages who minister to thy wants, are all thy 
humble and devoted friends.” 

“ Father, prithee pardon me for my temerity in differing 

7 


98 The Garden of Innocence. 

from thy gracious word ; but those of whom thou speakest 
are not my friends. They know that I am all-powerful with 
thee. They are but fawning sycophants, who feed upon thy 
bounty. If the sentiment they profess to cherish for me be 
friendship, then indeed my dreams of the meaning of the 
word are hollow, as hollow as is my life in this paradise of 
beauty.” 

The King laid his hand upon his son’s head, and looked 
into his sad face. 

li My poor child,” he said, “ God knows I love thee better 
than myself. Art thou not my successor to these 
fair islands ? Tell me, what can a King do for thy 

comfort ? ” 

“ Prithee, good my lord, send for the Lady Christabel, 
the daughter of the great Earl, thy subject, and for 

Prince Winfred, the heir of that land yonder, which re- 
flects itself in our sea ; let them live here for a time, and 
help me to discover the meaning of that magic word 

friendship.” 

The King gave orders that an escort should start at once 
to bring the Lady Christabel to his palace. He also 

commanded that a ship should be built, in which to 
fetch Prince Winfred of the Sea Islands. 

Lady Christabel arrived in the evening of the next 


The Garden of Innocence. 99 

day. She was mounted on a white steed, and was clad 
in a silken robe of opaline hue, her cloak and cap jewelled 
with moonstones. Ulric stood on the steps of the palace 
to receive her. She knelt and kissed his hand, and then 
looked upwards into his face. He noted the abundance 
of her dark hair and the strange beauty of her changing 
eyes, which were grey and blue by turn, as were the 
hues of her silken gown. 

“ Welcome, sweet Christabel, to our palace,” said the 
Prince. “ Dost think thou canst be happy here ? ” 

u Ah, my dear lord, ask me if I could be happy in 
Paradise.” 

Ulric flushed with pleasure, and led her up the marble 
steps to the King’s audience chamber. As the doors 
unclosed a sweet melody floated on the air, increased in 
volume for a brief space, then grew fainter and died away. 

4 

Christabel found herself in an immense room. The walls 
were set with rubies, the floor was of rock crystal, strewn 
with pink and white rose-leaves. In the centre of the 
hall, upon a dais covered with cloth of gold, sat the King, 
in his robes of state. The ladies of the Court, the lords 
and the pages, were clad in silks of various colours. Prince 
Ulric led Christabel to the foot of the throne. 

“ Welcome to our Court, my child,” said the King. “ Our 


ioo The Garden of Innocence 


dear son is lonely ; wilt thou befriend him ? Wilt thou 
teach him the solace of friendship ? Wilt thou prove to 
him that it is a reality and not a dream ? M 

" Most gracious King,” replied Christabel, “ I will teach 
him all I know of selfless, sacrificing, eternal friendship.” 

“ It does exist, then ? ” asked the Prince eagerly. 

“ Do the stars exist, my good lord, or the sun or the 
roses ? ” 

“The roses wither, sweet lady, even here, in paradise.” 

“ But friendship, good my lord, is a deathless rose ; its 
leaves are immortal.” 


II. 

At last Prince Ulric was happy. The days passed 
freighted with golden hours. He roamed with Christabel 
among the Rose Islands, and showed her the wonders 
thereof. Every day they inspected the progress made 
in the building of the ship which was to carry Prince 
Winfred to their shores. At length the vessel was finished, 
and she sailed away, the two companions watching her 
from the beach until her rosy flag and glittering figure- 
head were but specks in the distance. Then the Prince 
handed Christabel into a boat that spread its silken sails 
to Die breeze, and they sailed along the coast. 


«»*» 3 







The Garden of Innocence. 103 

u Art thou quite happy now, my gracious lord ? ” asked 
Christabel. 

“Ay, in good sooth, sweet lady. Have I not found 
solace in thy companionship ? Do I n A at length possess 
the white rose of friendship ? ” 

“ My dear Prince, I am indeed thy true, though humble, 
friend for ever.” 

" For ever I ” sighed Ulric. " Ah, Christabel, I was so 
sad before thou earnest. Thou hast saved me. I lived 
in doubt of honest friendship until now.” 

Ulric gazed into her face. She took up her lute and 
sang to him, a song of youth and springtime. 

Some days afterwards the ship which bore Prince Winfred 
anchored off the Rose Islands, and for the first time the 
two Princes met. Winfred, as became a son of the sea, 
was clothed in a garb of emerald tone, embroidered with 
shells. His cap was woven of strange sea-flowers. Great 
was the rejoicing in the Rose Islands over the advent of 
Prince Winfred. And as time went by great was the 
happiness of Ulric, for now he had another friend, a youth 
like unto himself. 

Months passed, scarcely making a ripple on the sea of 
Time. The three companions basked in an eternal sun- 
shine. Sometimes they sailed over the blue water ? some- 


104 The Garden of Innocence. 

times they sat among the flowers, while Winfred told them 
tales of his life and home — of strange caverns along the 
coast, of yellow sand-dunes covered with sea-flowers, of 
moorlands where purple heather bloomed, of long days 
passed in fishing, of stress and storms, of a sea that was 
often stern and angry, with crested waves beating shore- 
ward. Ulric would gaze at his guest in wonder, but 
Christabel’s eyes swam in a mist of tears, and when 
Winfred’s hand touched hers she would tremble. He gazed 
into her eyes, and understood their meaning. As time went 
by Winfred grew silent, but each day he looked oftener 
at Christabel. 

The roses withered, and bloomed again. Morning fol- 
lowed evening, hour succeeded hour. One day, as Prince 
Ulric wandered in the forest, he came suddenly upon his 
two friends. They did not see him, and he was spell- 
bound by the picture that met his gaze. Christabel was 
standing under a rose-bush, her hair falling from beneath 
a crown of flowers, and at her feet knelt Winfred, with 
upturned wondrous eyes. They remained long thus, in 
a blaze of sunlight from no earthly sun. 

Ulric stole away, hurt to death. “ Alas ! I have been 
deceived,” he moaned. “This is friendship, but I have 
never known it. They have found it ; but not I — not I ! n 


The Garden of Innocence. 105 

Prince Winfred sailed away to his own land, with the 
Lady Christabel and many of the noblest members of the 
King’s Court. Ulric would not accompany them. He 
preferred to be alone now that his companions had failed 
to teach him the secret of that friendship, the existence of 
which he had discovered in the forest. Furthermore, neither 
Winfred nor Christabel were solicitous for Ulric to journey 
with them to the Sea Islands. They had latterly grown 
strangely oblivious of their host’s presence. The young 
Prince, however, only blamed himself. He felt that his was 
not a nature to inspire friendship, but he longed for the great 
gift more and more, until his life became almost unbearable. 
Seeking for the white rose among the people of his 
father’s realm, he saw that they were only kind to him 
either through fear of his power or from motives of 
self-interest. 

One day, as he rode through the kingdom attended by 
his pages, he came upon a garden where a young girl was 
gathering fruit. Ulric, thinking she had not observed his 
approach, dismounted hastily, and throwing his dark cloak 
around him, entered the garden. The maiden was well 
pleased to see the youth, in whom she recognised her future 
King. She had used all her feminine arts to entertain her 
guest, when suddenly the Prince’s cloak slipped from his 


io6 The Garden of Innocence. 


shoulders, and he stood before her in all the radiance of 
his princely garments. 

For a moment the maiden feigned surprise, and her 
companion observed a new expression upon her face. lie 
had almost guessed her thoughts before she threw herself 
upon her knees, and said, “ Most gracious lord, prithee give 
me some jewels like unto these which adorn thy doublet.” 

Ulric cast down his cap in sorrow, for he remembered that 
it had remained undisguised upon his head all through the 
interview. From the first the maiden must have guessed 
his high degree. It was revealed by the royal badge of the 
pink rose, which glittered among its jewelled ornaments. 

“She only was good to me because I could be of use 
to her,” mused the Prince, as he rode homewards. “ She 
flattered me and smiled upon me because I am supposed 
to be one of the lucky ones of the earth. Had I been a poor 
man’s son it had been different.” 

The thought was an inspiration to him. Why should 
he not search for the deathless rose, disguised, that none 
might seek his friendship falsely ? The idea haunted him. 
At length he discussed it with the King, who, seeing that 
the Prince was nearly desperate with grief, consented to his 
plan. Ulric dressed himself as a minstrel, and having 
received his father’s blessing, left the palace and rode 


The Garden of Innocence. 107 

through the territory of the Rose Islands, opening his purse 
to the poor, and comforting the sorrowful with the strains 
of his lyre. As long as his supply of gold lasted he was 
well received ; when it was gone his troubles commenced. 
He was hungry, and none would give him to eat or to drink. 
Moreover, he had crossed the sea, and had left the Islands 
of Summer behind him. The kingdom in which he was now 
travelling was a land of mist and storm. He rode bravely 
on, nevertheless. Often, when he asked for help at the 
cottagers’ doors, they laughed at him, and the children beat 
him with sticks. Winter was severe in the land of mist 
and storm, and the Prince turned his horse’s head south- 
wards. After some days the character of the scenery 
changed. The climate became warm and sunny. One 
morning he led his steed through the mazes of a great 
forest. It was springtime; the birds were singing, the 
valleys were blue with wild hyacinths, and here and there 
Ulric came upon clusters of late primroses. Looking up, 
he could scarcely see the sky, so thick was the tracery 
of foliage between him and the heavens. They had 
no spring in the Rose Islands, no faint greens, no tender 
buds, but always the full glory of summer, with its vivid 
colouring and its drowsy breath. He was so enchanted 
yrith the beauty of this forest^ the like of which he had 


108 The Garden of Innocence. 

never seen before, that for awhile he had actually forgotten 
his quest, when suddenly, right in front of him, he saw a 
beautiful youth. Small and delicately made, his dress was 
entirely fashioned of pink rose-leayes, and he had golden 
wings. The Prince stood amazed, the apparition was so 
sudden, there had not been a sound; he rubbed his eyes, 
but the stranger did not vanish, he was a reality. 

“ What dost thou here, son of a King ? ” asked the 
youth. * * *. ■ y 

Ulric was still more surprised at being recognised under 
a disguise that , had served him well so far ; he could not 
speak for astonishment. 

“ Thou seekest the 1 deathless rose of friendship,’ is it not 
so ? ” asked the unknown. 

“ Ay, good sir. Perhaps thou canst aid me in my 
search ? ” 

" Fair Prince, I can indeed advise thee how to proceed. 
First of all, hie thee out of this forest with all speed.” 

“ Why, good sir, methinks it is a lovely place. The air 
is softer here than any I have known before, the birds 
sing sweeter songs, the flowers breathe a rarer perfume ; 
for the first time in my life I feel happy ; everything is fresh 
and young, and full of hope.” 

“Ay, royal minstrel, many love my land. Beware, 


The Garden of Innocence. 109 

nevertheless, of journeying through it. It is enchanted ; 
and if thou wouldst indeed follow thy quest, hie thee from 
the shelter of its trees and from the scent of its flowers ; 
but ere thou goest, I will tell thee what the word friendship 
means. Friends should be as bells upon a hyacinth, fed 
with the same rain, nourished by the same dew, warmed 
by the same sun, rocked by the same wind ; equal, placid, 
and calm in their lives ; above all, they should possess the 
virtue of unselfishness. Self-interest is the death of friend- 
ship.” 

“ Good sir, I have ever felt thus ; and being of this mind, 
I threw off my habit of a Prince and started in search of 
the great gift ; but I have ridden now lor a whole year, 
and I find it not, neither have I met in all my travels any 
who possess this 1 deathless rose.’ ” 

“Thou wast but a youth when thou didst leave thy 
father’s palace ; now thou art a man, and the King mourns 
thee as dead.” 

When Ulric heard this he was greatly grieved, and at 
once resolved to return to the Rose Islands. 

“ Tell me, before we part, good my lord, hast any proof 
that this ' rose of friendship ’ exists ? ” 

Then Ulric told him the story of Winfred and Christabel, 
and described the scene which he had witnessed in the 


iio The Garden of Innocence 


forest. The youth broke into peals of laughter, and the 
hues of his flower-dress became so vivid that the Prince’s 
eyes were dazzled. Presently the stranger, assuming a 
serious manner, said, — 

44 1 will tell thee where the Fairy Friendship dwells. She 
is my twin sister. Thou shalt make one last attempt to find 
her. She holds her Court in the clouds of the setting sun. 
Ere nightfall, go to the seashore, stretch forth thy hands to 
the garments of departing day, and say, 4 Good Fairy Friend- 
ship, bring me unto thy chambers of light. If thou canst 
say this with no thought of self, no longing for a friend 
because of the pleasure that friendship bestows, but with the 
same feeling that the hyacinth bells have for each other, 
then a ladder will be let down from the regions of the 
sunset, and Friendship will give thee her deathless rose, 
which is so rare, so scarce a blossom, so seldom possessed 
by man or woman, so precious beyond all things, that once 
attained, it will be the most priceless flower in thy kingly 
crown.” 

44 I thank thee, from my heart,” said Ulric. 

11 If thou wouldst succeed, leave this land of mine ; it will 
not bri g thee unto the courts of friendship. Give up thy 
quest, and I will show thee something that is far sweeter 
than friendship, and far easier to win.” 


The Garden of Innocence. 1 1 1 


“ Nay, fair youth, I will endeavour once more to find what 
I have so long sought in vain ; but, before I bid thy 
beautiful country farewell, wilt thou tell me why the roses 
upon thy dress so far surpass those that bloom in my 
father’s kingdom ? ” 

“Good Ulric, hast never heard of Love? Love, who 
comes to mortals without their knowledge, ay, without 
their asking ; Love, whose voice is sweeter than the nightin- 
gale’s ; Love, who was born of God in the Garden of Eden, 
and was clothed with the deathless roses that bloomed 
there ? ” 

He did not wait for Ulric’s answer, but vanished ; and 
his laughter echoed through the forest like a peal of silver 
bells. 


III. 

At sunset the Prince stood upon the shore and stretched 
forth his hands heavenwards, uttering the words specified 
by Love. He never knew whether his mind had not the 
selfless quality enjoined by the youth, or whether the roses 
of friendship were all withered and dead ; but the sunset 
and its glory was suddenly hidden from his sight by a veil 
of mist. When the mist cleared it was night. Ulric lay 


1 12 The Garden of Innocence 


down upon the sand and wept, for he knew that the gift for 
which he had sought so long was not for him. 

Towards morning he retraced his steps, hoping to meet 
the youth and to tell him how completely he had again failed 
in his quest ; but he could not find the way to the forest. 
About mid-day, however, he came upon a hedged-in garden 
surrounding a lonely villa. Through the maze of boughs 
and foliage the Prince could see a beautiful maiden. She 
was clad in white, and her only ornament was a white 
rose. Ulric had never beheld so pure nor so lovely 
a maid. Hardly knowing what he did, he dismounted 
and leaped the hedge. When he was inside the garden 
he noticed that the trees were white with bloom, and that 
the path glittered with the fallen blossoms. He saw, too, 
that no coloured flowers grew in the floral beds ; they 
were all white. As he gazed around, a silvery mist arose, 
and he could see nothing excepting the maiden, until it 
seemed to him that the enclosure was filled with her 
image. Then the mist cleared ; the spell was broken, and 
he was alone. 

The Prince was deeply sorry at having lost sight of the 
beautiful girl ; moreover, he hardly dared to seek her in the 
depths of the snowy garden. An atmosphere of peace, which 
he feared to disturb, seemed to brood over the place. Before 



i 





























I. 































































• 




























The Garden of Innocence. 115 

leaving the maiden’s home he plucked a rose, as a memento 
of the fair vision he had seen ; but to his surprise it was 
entirely without perfume. As he examined it, wondering at 
the strange phenomenon, some one addressed him from out- 
side the hedge. Looking up, he recognised the youth with 
whom he had conversed in the forest. Ulric hurried towards 
him, with a cry of joy. 

“ That scentless bloom is not the rose of friendship, fair 
Prince,” said the youth, taking the flower from Ulric’s hand. 

“Thou sayest true; I have not yet found it. Neverthe- 
less, methinks I am on the right path. Hope stirs in my 
heart and whispers ‘ Courage ! ’ But now, I saw a maiden 
here, beautiful as an angel. If I only dare seek her yonder, 
my soul tells me that I may discover in her the deathless 
rose for which I long.” 

“ Then go, thou King’s son. Most like thou art right. 
Seek her.” 

“ Wilt thou not go too, good youth ? In all my travels 
I have never known fear until now; and yet here, in this 
land of white flowers and whiter mists, Hope’s gentle spur 
notwithstanding, I am overawed, I dare not venture.” 

“ Ah, my Prince ! if thou wilt find what thou desirest 
thou must be brave, and advance with faith and courage. 

I cannot lead thee, neither can I follow thee ; but yonder 


ii6 The Garden of Innocence 


the edge of this garden joins my land, the forest where I 
met thee yesterday. If thou findest not the maiden, seek 
me there. Farewell. See,” he added, “see how sudden 
red thy white rose hath blushed ! ” 

And vanishing, he dropped Ulric’s rose at the Prince’s 
feet. It was of a brilliant red, and gave forth a strangely 
powerful perfume. 

Notwithstanding the encouragement of his unknown pre- 
ceptor, the Prince would never have ventured far along the 
glittering path. The Fates seemed to check his progress. 
If the maiden, whom his heart prompted him to seek, had 
not left her bower to meet him, his quest, even so near 
upon success, might yet have ended in disappointment. 
But with gracious step the maid approached, and, holding 
forth her hand quite simply, herself led him through the 
garden. 

Ulric walked on, looking into her eyes. His heart beat, 
and the flower-strewn way seemed to melt from beneath 
his feet. 

“ Good minstrel, who art thou ? ” asked the maiden. 

“I am thy devoted servant,” murmured the Prince. 
“ Prithee, tell me thy name, gracious lady ? ” 

“ I am called Innocent, and I am the Princess of the 
Garden of Innocence.” 










The Garden of Innocence 


n 9 


“ Is this the Garden of Innocence ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Is that the reason why the flowers are all white and 
scentless here ? ” 

“ Are they ever different, fair sir ? ” she asked won- 
deringly. 

“In my land, sweet maiden, they are red, pink, purple, 
gold, and of every colour. But now, I had one of your 
own white roses which had changed to red.” 

The Princess looked at Ulric in amazement as he searched 
for his rose. There it lay at his feet; but it had again 
become as white and as scentless as all the other flowers 
in the garden. The Prince was sorely puzzled. Had he 
only dreamed that the rose had changed to red m the 
youth’s hands? 

They walked on in silence for many a long hour, their 
eyes meeting in a sympathy too great for words. 

“At last,” thought the Prince, “I have found the ‘white 
rose of friendship,’ the leaves whereof are immortal. I shall 
never part from it ; it will be with me all my life, great, 
sacrificing, eternal friendship, straight from God.” 

He told Innocent of his grief, and of the bitter troubles 
that he had encountered in his search. 

“ Poor minstrel J ” she said softly. “ Be happy now, for 


120 The Garden of Innocence. 


thy sorrow is ended. I feel this deathless friendship for 
thee.” 

“ God be thanked, that my quest is crowned with success ; 
but since thou art my true friend, since thou art noble 
enough to hold me dear, though in thy eyes I seem but 
a poor beggar, know that I am the Prince of the Rose 
Islands, which yield the many-coloured flowers I have told 
thee of.” 

il Good my lord, that does not make thee more precious 
to me. Wert thou poor and despised, hated of all the 
world, weary and sick unto death, I could but hold thee 
more dear. Didst thou ask me for my life, I could but lay 
it willingly at thy feet.” 

Tears stole down her cheeks, and she looked up at Ulric 
with eyes of doglike fidelity. 

“ Ah, this is friendship ! ” sighed the Prince ; “ this is 
what Christabel and Winfred discovered in the forest. 
Come, sweet Innocent, I will take thee to the King, my 
father, and show him the * deathless rose.’ ” 

As Ulric finished speaking, he folded her in his arms and 
kissed her. The air was suddenly filled with ringing 
peals of laughter, and on the path, close to them, stood the 
youth who had not dared to venture inside the garden but 
a few hours before. Why had he come into the depths of 


«■« ' v ! 










































* 



































The Garden of Innocence. 123 

the white country now? He waved his arms, and all the 
flowers changed to a brilliant red. Innocent’s white rose 
fell from her hair, and in its place lay a crimson bloom, the 
wondrous perfume of which ascended like incense heaven- 
wards. 

“Fair Prince, thy search is fruitless,” chanted the youth, 
in low penetrating tones. “ Thou hast indeed found a rose 
which is deathless ; but it is the sweet red rose of Love.” 



CHRISTMAS: 

rose 


Small* service- is-tri/e service while- 

~ IT LASTS 

Off ri endS’H°wever- h vmdle >sc<>rn w 
Ihe daisy ••dy-the-shad°wthat IT NE 

n CASTS* 

PR°TECTS-A LINGERING DEW-DROP- 

FR°MTHE-SVN** 

-W°RDSW 0 RTH- 


I. 


I T was in a desolate London lodging-house that 
Marietta’s courage gave way. In Italy she could live 
and be merry on the most frugal fare. A little polenta, 
a handful of grapes, and a piece of bread sufficed for a good 
meal. Not so in London; nor were there grapes or polenta 
even if she desired nothing else. The poor little heart 
needed nourishment against the gloom and harass of 
the great dull city. So she laid her head upon her brother’s 
breast in a fit of despair and wept bitterly. 

Marietta was seventeen. She had only arrived in 


124 


A Christmas Rose, 


125 


England at the end of November. It was now nigh upon 
Christmas. Her brother Rica had lived in London over a 
year. He had been engaged by a great artist to sit to 
him as a model, and to no other. 

Rica had saved every penny, being content with the bare 
necessities of life, so that Marietta might go and stay with 
him for a few months before she commenced her novitiate, 
prior to taking the veil at the convent where she had been 
educated. The nuns had adopted her when the children 
became orphans, and as time passed she had grown to 
long for the day which should make her one of the black- 
robed sisters of the Visitation. Unfortunately, a little time 
after Marietta’s arrival in England, Rica’s master had 
suddenly died, and the two children were left friendless and 
almost penniless in the great city. 

It was Christmas Eve. The snow lay thick upon the 
ground. There was neither fire on the hearth nor bread 
in the cupboard, and the night was bitterly cold. 

Rica smoothed away the dark hair from his sister’s face 
and tried to comfort her. He could endure want and misery 
much better than she could. The beautiful face had become 
delicately spirituelle through the rigour of privation. 

" Dearest Marietta, I will go and beg some food for you ; 
don’t cry any more.” 


126 


A Christmas Rose. 


u Oh, I shall die in this gloomy place 1 Take me back to 
the kind sisters ! ” she moaned, giving way to hysterical 
sobs. 

11 Have patience, we shall return to Italy some day ; but 
believe me, when once winter goes, England is not such a 
dreadful country. In summer it is beautiful, and the flowers 
compare well with those at home.” 

“ Flowers ! I don’t believe there are any here, not at 
least in this cruel city, with its yellow fogs and its sunless 
abodes.” 

Rica sighed deeply as he kissed her, and turned to go 
out into the snowy night. It grieved him to see Marietta 
utterly broken down. She had failed in her first trial. 
But then, she was so beautiful, she ought to have been 
a princess instead of the daughter of a poor fisherman. 
It was all a mistake. 


II. 

In the garden of a house that was inscribed u To Let ” 
there grew a sad and solitary Christmas Rose, that lifted 
up pathetic complaint to the leaden sky. 

Night heard her, and went to comfort her. He was 
enchanted with her beauty, and she lifted her face to receive 
his soft caresses. 






A Christmas Rose 


1 29 


u Sweet flower/’ he murmured, “ have you forgotten that 
it is still winter ? Why do you bloom in this dreary garden 
while the snow yet covers the ground ? ” 

u I am a Christmas Rose, and I blossom on the eve 
of Jesus’ birthday. I was planted a year ago by the 
people who dwelt here ; they left soon afterwards. No 
human eyes have ever gazed on my face, and yet my 
heart is full of love for them. A Christmas Rose, I long 
to help them, to give my life in their service, as did my 
Infant Master,” she said, as a melted drop of snow ran 
down the white petals into her heart. 

“Do not grieve,” whispered Night, rocking her in his 
arms; “but learn to rest all through the winter and be 
a Summer Rose.” 

" Ah 1 my only charm is that I bloom when June’s 
flowers are sleeping ; besides, I should lose my birthright, 
my dedication to the Child Jesus, if I did as you advise.” 

“ Remain then as you are, sweet one. It is midnight. 
I must proclaim the gracious news of the coming of Christ. 
When His birthday wanes I will visit you again.” 

He kissed her tenderly, and there was a lull in his song 
as he gathered his strength, spread his mighty wings, and 
took flight. 

The flower was lonelier than before, now that her friend 

9 


130 A Christmas Rose. 

had departed. Daylight came. The bells rang out their 
old story of peace and gladness. Children passed, some 
with sprigs of holly in their coats. 

There was a summons at the gate in the garden of the 
next house; a voice said, “A Merry Christmas,” and 
another answered, u God bless you to-day and always ! ” 

" Ah, if human lips would say that to me I n thought 
the flower. il If I could only bring a little joy into a human 
life ! ” Her heart ached, for she knew that she would die 
when the clocks tolled midnight, announcing that Christ’s 
birthday had passed away. 

What was that ? Are stars visible in the daytime ? A 
little brown face was pressed against the railings, and two 
brilliant eyes gazed at her. It was a boy dressed in ragged 
velveteen breeches, and thin discoloured shirt. Curls of 
black hair surrounded his face. He climbed over the 
railings, knelt down on the sodden grass, and gazed at 
the Christmas Rose. 

11 Ah ! ” thought Rica, “ at last, here is something to 
remind Marietta of Italy, although this fair blossom breathing 
here in a London garden is far sweeter than Italy’s flowers. 
It must be the Infant Jesus’ rose which blooms on His 
birthday.” His brown fingers closed round the stalk, and 
the flower felt a thrill of joy as he plucked her; but all the 


A Christmas Rose. 13 1 

eaves bowed to the ground, and rent the air with sad 
moans. 

Rica carried the Christmas Rose far away from her 
birthplace, past the Park, through the slushy streets, on — 
on — until the character of the houses changed. Every- 
thing grew gradually sordid. Drunken men reeled against 
each other, and ill-clad children played about at the mouths 
of foul alleys. 

The Christmas Rose clung tighter to the little brown 
hand, and drew comfort from the tender grasp. As Rica 
turned the corner of the street which led to his wretched 
home he ran against an artist who was sketching some 
crazy old houses. 

“Mind where you are going, my boy! Why! What a 
beautiful Christmas Rose ! How much do you want for it ? ” 
he asked, looking at the flower, and not noticing Rica’s 
handsome face. 

“ I cannot part with it, sir. It is for my sister. She 
only came from Italy in November, and she has been 
fretting so because we are in trouble. I think that this 
beautiful flower may comfort her.” 

Edward Thornhill was touched, and as he looked into the 
boy’s face he was almost startled by its beauty. It belonged 
to the sunny skies of Italy, with its brilliant eyes, olive skin, 


132 


A Christmas Rose 


luxuriant hair, and red lips. As he scanned the little 
Italian’s countenance, he also remarked his poverty, and 
placing his hand on Rica’s shoulder he asked, — 

" Are you very poor, my child ? ” 

“ Oh, sir, we are starving ! I don’t care for myself, but 
for my sister. She is beautiful ; and she can’t stand misery. 

I am sure God did not mean her to suffer ; it’s all a mistake,” 
cried the boy, breaking down under the kind glance and the 
sympathetic words. 

" I seem to know your face,” said the artist. u Why, of 
course I do ; you were poor Godfrey’s model ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I had been in his studio a year when he died. 
I served him entirely, and now that he is gone I am quite 
friendless.” 

li Does your sister sit ? ” 

u Not hitherto, sir. She has not thought of it. Nor have 
I told her how she might perhaps obtain employment, even 
easier than I, because I somehow felt that the nuns to 
whom she owes everything might not like it.” 

“ Did they say they would object ? ” 

" Not in wcrds ; but, you see, Marietta has promised to 
return in May. She came to London to say good-bye to 
me. I was able to send her money for her passage, being 
well provided by Mr. Godfrey. She is to take the veil soon 


A Christmas Rose. 


133 

after her return, and then, you know, I lose her alto- 
gether.” 

“ You don’t like that ? ” 

“ She will be taken care of/’ the boy replied, u and she 
desires to dedicate her life to God, so you see I must be 
content.” 

u Poor little chap ! But I can help you in your present 
need. Let the Christmas Rose be a harbinger of joy to both 
of you. Give it to your sister, and bring her to this address 
within an hour. You shall have food and warmth, anyhow, 
and I will help you further.” 

Rica sped up the court to their miserable quarters. 
Marietta was watching anxiously for him at the window. 
He had been out all night, and she was almost in despair. 

" Look, dearest, isn't it lovely ? ” he cried, as he rushed 
into the room and held up the Christmas Rose for her to 
see. 

She took it in her thin fingers, and her eyes dwelt on its 
beauty until they filled with tears, which dropped on the 
rose’s face and sank into her grateful heart. 

“ How exquisite, Rica I The Infant Jesus must have 
brought it from heaven.” 

Then her face gradually lost its transient glow, and in a fit 
of despair she threw the flower on the ground, and cried, — 


r 34 


A Christmas Rose 


a But it cannot help us ; of what good is it ? I thought 
you went out to beg bread.” 

u Ah, Marietta ! don’t scorn it ; be grateful all your life 
that I found the Christmas Rose. It has saved us 1 ” 

On hearing her brother’s story she was overjoyed. She 
picked up the trembling flower, and hastily covering her head 
with a shawl, prepared to accompany Rica. 

On the presentation of Thornhill’s card they were shown 
into his studio. 

The Christmas Rose thought she was in Fairyland. The 
room was decorated with festoons of evergreens, wreaths of 
holly, and bunches of mistletoe. On the platform was a small 
Christmas tree hung with sweets, crackers, silver ornaments, 
and coloured beads, surmounted by a fairy doll dressed 
in white and studded with silver stars. Marietta stood 
gazing round the studio, holding the trembling Rose in her 
hand. But what was this ? The Fairy Prince off the tree 
come to life ? They had never seen anything so fair before. 
A boy had risen from a seat by the stove, where he had 
been amusing himself with a picture book. A slim little 
fellow, with dreamy, hazel eyes set in a pale spiritual face, 
and what wonderful hair. It was like golden sunbeams. 
Angel was the artist’s son. His mother had died two years 
ago. He was just six years old, a sweet ; delicate child, 














'’■/O'* 

'^■> r S‘ / 


&$& - 


W 1 








A Chiistmas Rose. 


137 

Often he was very lonely, for his father was frequently away, 
and he was not strong enough to go to school. 

How much he missed his mother, and how the memory 
of her dwelt in his young soul, even his father scarcely 
guessed. At night he cried himself to sleep thinking of her, 
and wondering where she was. It had occurred to the child 
that she had not been very happy, and that his father did 
not love her as he did. 

11 1 have been watching for you,” said Angel, putting out 
his small hand. “ Oh, what a pretty flower ! I have never 
seen one like it before.” 

li It is a Christmas Rose, dear,” said Thornhill, who had 
entered as the boy spoke. 

Marietta placed it in his hair. He looked at her gravely, 
and then held up his face to be kissed. 

The Christmas Rose nearly swooned with joy, for she 
thought that Angel was the Infant Jesus; and as she was 
set in the place of honour amongst that golden glory, her 
heart throbbed with gratitude. 

Edward Thornhill had been accustomed to the society of 
pretty women all his life ; but in the presence of this convent 
girl he was absolutely nervous. Her beauty fascinated him. 
He longed to take his brush, to portray that face on canvas. 

Marietta was shy to a fault, and it was a long time 


A Christmas Rose, 


i3 8 

before he could get anything excepting monosyllables 
from her in conversation. 

Christmas dinner was served in another part of the 
studio. It was not a very grand one. The absence of 
a woman’s hand in the household arrangements had 
been keenly felt by the artist since his wife’s deat\ 
But there was a piece of roast beef and a plum-pudding, 
with dates, apples, and oranges to follow. The two Italians 
had eaten nothing but a little bread for two days, so to 
them it was a feast for the Gods. 

Later the tree was stripped of its ornaments. Angel 
pressed nearly all the presents on Rica. He was a kind- 
hearted little fellow, and very unselfish. 

“And so you are going to be a nun, my child?” said 
the artist, when by sympathetic questioning he had elicited 
Marietta’s story. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Do you think you will be happy ? n 

“Yes, sir.” 

There was a slight hesitation in her manner. And yet, 
when she had entered the studio only two hours ago, 
she had resolved to ask Edward Thornhill to lend her 
enough money to pay her fare back to the convent, so 
that she could begin her novitiate at once,” 


A Christmas Rose. 


139 

“Your mind is quite made up, nothing could change 
it?” 

44 I think not.” 

How quickly her listener detected the little tremor in 
her voice, which told him much more than the uncertainty 
implied in her words. 

44 And yet I believe you might be happy here. I can 
help you both ; you shall not want for work. Your brother 
tells me that you have never been a model, but perhaps 
you would be kind enough to favour me by sitting for my 
Academy picture. The subject is to be the Annunciation.” 

She did not answer, and he continued talking, — 

44 You must remember that the city is not always as 
gloomy as it looks to-night. We have picture galleries, 
parks and squares, and the country is beautiful at all 
seasons. Do you not think you could be content to 
stay a little?” 

44 Perhaps a little.” 

44 I will get you some needlework to do, and Rica shall 
find in me as good a master as the one he has just 
lost. 

“You are very kind,” she said, looking up at him with 
tearful eyes. 

44 The nuns won’t be angry with you for staying a little 


140 


A Christmas Rose. 


while with your brother ; they will consent to receive you 
later, will they not ? n 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ And will you sit for my picture ? w 

“Yes, as soon as you wish.” 

Before Marietta left she kissed the Christmas Rose, and 
whispered, “ Dear Infant Jesus, guard the flower which has 
saved us.” 

And it murmured : — 

“ I am happy. My Master is pleased that I have followed 
in His footsteps, and His reward is beyond all price.” 

But Marietta did not hear. 

Before Angel went to rest he placed the Christmas Rose 
in a goblet of water, and it lifted up its innocent face and 
breathed a sweet, faint perfume. The hours flew by, and 
towards midnight a curious pink hue stole over its white 
petals, the fragrance died away, the luxuriant stem withered 
up, and it breathed its last as Christ’s birthday passed 
away. 

The star of Bethlehem was alone in the heavens when 
Night visited the garden to greet the beauteous flower of the 
morning, but it had vanished. In its place was a tear which 
sparkled like a diamond, the tear it had shed when yearning 
to help suffering humanity. 


A Christmas Rose, 


141 


hi. 

Four months afterwards Marietta received a letter from 
the superior of her convent. She sat reading it in a clean 
and comfortably furnished room. Though to all appearances 
perfectly happy, her face wore an expression of sadness, 
and tears fell on the missive in her hand. 

At length she rose, placed the letter in the pocket of her 
gown, and after packing up a costume she had just 
finished making for Edward Thornhill, made her way to 
his studio. 

He praised her work. He had never found anybody so 
clever at carrying out suggestions as Marietta ; but to-day 
his commendation brought no pleasure into her face, and the 
artist was quick to notice her changed manner. 

" You are sad, Marietta ? ” 

u No,” she answered hastily, turning to leave the studio. 

“ Why no, when you mean yes ? ” he asked, following 
her. 

She did not reply, but the tears gathered in her eyes 
and fell upon her dress. 

u Tell me what grieves you. I helped you once, and 
may be able to do so again.” 

She took the Reverend Mother’s letter from her pocket 


142 


A Christmas Rose. 


and placed it in his hand. It contained a few lines, saying 
that they would expect their child back in a fortnight’s time. 

“ Then you are going to leave us after all ? 99 

“ It is better so.” 

“ But it makes you sad the thought of going ? w 

“ Yes,” she said, with downcast face. 

“ The sisters would not wish you to take the veil if you 
or they doubted your vocation for such a surrender?” 

“ I don’t understand.” 

“ Your heart must be in this sacrament, your whole heart, 
you must have no longings after the world. Is it not so ? ” 

“ Oh yes,” she said, her voice trembling, tears in her eyes. 

“ Have you any longings that might be a shadow on your 
nun’s life, my child ? Have you ? Nay, don’t be afraid to 
speak.” 

“ Oh, don’t ask me,” she said, repressing her sobs. 

“You do net think your life here involves a sin ? You 
have enabled me to paint a heavenly image that might, so 
far as the pure spirit of it goes, decorate the fairest church. 
I do not say the work, Maiieita, but the intention, the 
inspiration.” 

She found this question too subtle for her comprehension, 
but theie was something in the artist’s t lie and manner that 
thrilled her, something that was like the influence of the 


A Christmas Rose. I43 

Magnificat in the great choir of the cathedral. She turneJ 
her wondering eyes towards him, and he took her hands in 
his. 

u You have been happy here ? ” he asked, his voice 
trembling. 

“ Yes, very.” 

" Then why leave me ? Put up with the gloom and fog 
for my sake, Marietta. Be the artist’s little wife as well as 
his model.” 

The sun came streaming into the studio as he bent over 
her fair hands and kissed them. 

“ It is not all gloom and fog,” she replied. " To-day the 
London sun is as bright and warm as it was in Italy when I 
was a child.” 

It was not alone the London sun, it was the sunshine 
of the heart ; and it lasted all through the remainder of 
Marietta’s life. 



THE WINDFLOWER 




"On E>W I LL* CR°W/S »THEE »KI NG 
FARMN*THE>SPIRlTl/AiJ>CfTy * 
L°ro TeuNts 0 ^ 


I. 


ADY MERCY sat 
writing of love in 
the early hours of morn- 
ing. She had been 
christened Mercy, but 
the people called her 
the u Windflower.” She was born in a high March 
wind, which had once more wooed her sisters into life. 
They lay like a fall ot snow in the adjacent forests. 

As the girl grew the title of the u Windflower ” suited 
more and more her long fair hair and clear grey eyes. 

She had never known any home beyond this beautiful 
palace. Mere, in the heart of a pastoral country, the birds 
sang and the fl wers bloomed all through the year. It was 
a haven of peace, of glorious morning dawns and wind- 
swept evening skies. 

Her mother, the widowed Countess, wished to keep her 

144 


The Windflower, 


145 


among the flowers and meadows, and she had reached her 
seventeenth summer without ever having been in a city. She 
had, indeed, many learned teachers, and had heard and read 
of the great world which lay beyond the hills surrounding 
her home, but had no longing in her heart to go there. She 
found hosts of friends in nature — the flowers, birds, dogs, 
horses, golden fish in the fountain, and the sun ; but most 
of all the wind. It seemed as though the poetic title, given 
to her by the good people of the village, had already 
exercised an influence upon her life. She loved the wind, 
whether he came from the icefields of the north or the sun- 
plains of the equator, whether his breath were redolent of 
western seas or of spices and Arabian perfumes. 

To feel his kisses on her face, to have him whirl her 
round in his strength, to bend before his mighty wings 
as did her sisters, the Windflowers, this was her delight. 
Her play hours were passed in dreamland peopled with her 
own mystical creations. What should she know of love ? 
She was, indeed, an utter stranger to it, and yet she wrote 
of love, and called her hero “ Terah.” 

But the time had come when the Countess thought her 
daughter ought to begin to realise that the great world 
was not an ideal one like that of her dreams. 

" Mercy,” she said, <( why do you always write of 1 Terah' 


10 


The Windflower 


146 

as you call him ? He seems to be the hero of all your 
stories, and he is quite impossible. You must not imagine 
that people in the great world are as lovely in their lives 
as your flowers are. 1 Terah ' is an ideal.” 

“ An ideal ? ” 

“Yes, there is no such man.” 

“ In what way is he not true ? ” asked the girl, her eyes 
full of wonder. 

“ Describe him again, and I will explain.” 

“ His name speaks for him ; it means that he was a 
breather of good like the wind, only he was always gentle. 
Then he drove away sorrow. He was a comforter ; his face 
was most beautiful ; he was all mercy, all love ; and he had 
thought of others so much that self was quite dead in him. 
Is that impossible in that wide world yonder ? ” 

The Countess sighed as she answered, “ Do not make him 
so handsome, Mercy, and then perhaps he will be a more 
probable character, the man enriched by Providence with 
perfect beauty such as your hero cannot help being self- 
imbued. It is the old story of Narcissus, every glass greets 
him with the picture he likes best to see ; even the eyes of 
the woman he loves are dimmed by the reflection of his 
image. 

Months passed, and a great change was noticed in Lady 









































I 

















* . 



















• 




1 









































The Windflower, 


149 


Mercy. She grew paler and paler ; she wrote no more 
stories ; and all her studies were stopped. She rose very 
early, and walked miles in the woods and by the river, as if 
seeking for something. The “ Windflower ” seemed to have 
been bruised by a rough tempest. 

A renowned doctor came from the metropolis and pressed 
her to say what ailed her. 

“ I am looking for * Terah.* Mother said he was an 
ideal, merely the creature of my brain, and since then I 
have lost him,” she moaned. “Ask her to take me to the 
great city that I may seek him, for I think he has gone there 
to prove that he is true.” 

And so the “Windflower” was uprooted from among 
her kith and kin. She journeyed to the distant town, past 
the river and over the hills. 

And all was changed. She was thrust into the world 
of fashion. Dressed in costly silks with long flowing 
trains, her hair was not allowed to hang loosely over her 
shoulders any more. She was “ out,” so it was dressed 
high on her head by a French coiffeur. She was forbidden 
to walk unattended in the great city. Even in the parks 
she was always accompanied by a chaperon. It was not 
correct to be seen alone, and comfort and freedom had to 
be sacrificed, 


The Windflower, 


*S° 


ii. 

Society made much of the ethereal-looking girl. Society 
took to her title of the “Windflower”; it was so romantic, 
so " old world.” She went for rides in the Row, drove in 
the Park, visited the opera and theatres, was present at 
evening receptions, and at ladies’ “ tea and scandal ” parties 
— weak tea and strong scandal. Here she learned to fear 
her own sex. 

She was presented at Court in a low dress on a foggy 
afternoon ; she went everywhere in a sort of dream seeking 
her ideal, but she found no trace of u Terah,” the breather 
of good ; and as time passed she grew sick at heart, seeing 
on all hands the lust of self. Men battled for their idol 
everywhere, women bartered away their souls to crown self 
with a diadem of gold. 

Presently she was permitted to go about unattended, a 
freedom that inspired her with new hopes. She went down 
to the busy part cf the city and stood in the surging crowd 
that battled for life. The “Windflower” was alone in a 
world of anxious men whose all-consuming passion was 
self. Time was precious. All vas hurry. Everybody had 
business on hand ; even at luncheon they seemed to be 
racing. Not a minute was to be lost; hesitate but for an 


The Windflower. 


151 

instant, and they were pushed aside, the great race of self 
against self, pursuing its course without them. A few 
attained the goal, but many were stricken down by the 
way. Those who reached it bowed their heads to the 
ground and worshipped at the glittering shrine where Gold 
and Self were throned kings of the human heart. 

Her quest seemed to be failing entirely. Among the poor, 
who learned to love her, she now and then found a trace 
of her lost il Terah,” but it was only a straggling ray of 
light in a nightmare of darkness and sin. 

One night she was present at a great ball given in her 
honour by an intimate friend of the Countess. 

The room was filled with sweet perfumes, the mantel- 
pieces heaped with lilies of the valley and white lilacs. 
All the wealth of spring flowers lay fainting in the hot 
atmosphere. Not a drop of water to cool them, not a breath 
of air to ease their pain. The band shrieked out its 
cheap melodies, the dancers danced beneath the glare of 
electric lights. The fashionable throng enjoyed itself. But 
one out of its number felt as weary as the flowers. Dressed 
in clinging folds of soft satin, her hair was arranged low in 
her neck, and in her hand she held a few loose roses. She 
looked like a garden lily which had strayed from its home, 
and grieved to find that it had exchanged the evening air 


!52 


The Windflower 


and the silence of the night for the glare of electric globes, 
the heat of a crowded room, and the hubbub of countless 
voices. 

“And so you do not like society ? ” said her partner, a 
young fellow whom she had often met before, and whom 
she greatly interested. 

“ From what I know of it I do not. I think, too, that 
people who live in cities are cruel. Look at the poor lilacs 
and lilies massed together to faint and die. In my home 
we never think of letting flowers remain without water. We 
look upon them as living things. Every blossom has a life 
of its own ; it knows pain and thirst. When I see them, 
torn from hedge and meadow by careless hands and thrown 
on to the roads to die in the dust, I know that for each 
flower an angel weeps.” 

“ Do not talk of things that make you sad. I want you 
to be happy to-night. You are enjoying yourself, are you 
not ? ” the young fellow inquired wistfully. Dangerous 
question to ask the grave idealist, but he had taken a great 
fancy to her, he sympathised with many of her feelings. 
“If you cannot say that you are enjoying yourself, please 
leave my question unanswered,” he added hastily. 

Lady Mercy looked up in surprise, then partly compre- 
hending his words, she said,— 


The Windflower, 


153 

11 1 like to talk with you ; but I have had to converse with 
so many others who have nothing to say that I am weary — 
men who asked me whether I had seen this or that play, if 
I had been on the great wheel, did I approve of bicycling 
for women ? Had I tried golfing ? And then, having finished 
their stock of small talk, they taxed their poor ingenuity 
to pay me compliments.” 

“ I am not surprised,” was the grave reply. 

“ Oh 1 I wish you had not said that. Why should a 
man seek to flatter a woman ; in short, to insult her ? ” 

“ I would not offend you for the world I ” he cried. 
“ Indeed I am sorry.” 

“And I am grieved to have spoken bitterly. Pardon me, 
I do not know how to talk even to you, and everything 
is so strange,” she said, flushing deeply. 

“ Tell me of what you like most yourself ; that will 
interest me beyond all other subjects.” 

" I cannot speak of that,” she answered, a gentle light 
playing on her face. “ I can only think about it. The 
remembrance of it is rooted in my heart; it is a part of 
me.” 

“ Mercy, he cried, his face flushing and his eyes be- 
coming strangely brilliant, “the Countess has told me of 
your dream, of your search for some one who has never 


!54 


The Windflower, 


existed. Ah! give it up. Do you not know that the 
bitterest chapter in the book of life is that which is headed 
* Broken Ideals ’ ? The pages are written in blood, they are 
blistered with tears. The reader must decipher that chapter 
alone, the shattered remains of what was once his divinity, 
his sunshine feeding on his heart, and poisoning even his 
memory.” 

“ But humanity should not let its ideals be broken. It 
should fight for them, lock them safe in the inmost chamber 
of its mind. It should never suffer a profane hand to 
destroy that which is dearer than itself,” she answered, with 
a fixed, far-away look in her eyes. 

“ Ah, my dear Mercy, believe me, should you appear to 
find he whom you seek, you will but dream, and then 
awake to learn that your young, fresh life has been wasted, 
and that your Ideal is false. Then age will be passed in 
useless longing and vain regrets.” 

il I shall find him. I did know him once, and he left me, 
but he will come back again.” Her eyes filled with tears, and 
she looked so spiritual, so beautiful, that her companion 
could contain himself no longer. 

il Mercy, I love you ! ” he whispered. 

The breathless words brought her back from dreamland, 
with its mists and its dim beauties — back to a London ball- 


The Windflower, 


155 

room, back to fading humanity and faded flowers. The 
utter weariness and cheapness of it all struck her painfully, 
the passionate cry of love associated itself in her mind with 
the rustle and frippery of fashion. 

“ My life is his of whom we have spoken/’ she said gently 
in response to his beseeching glance, as her hostess, a 
bright, fashionable woman, hurried up and whispered effu- 
sively : “ Wait here a moment, dear. I have at last found 
some one whom I am sure will please you. He is very 
rich and handsome, quite a king in the world of fashion, 
and yet a Christian gentleman — and oh, so wise ! We call 
him our Ideal.” 

She came back accompanied by a tall, fine man. 
Everybody thought him beautiful — u pure Greek, you 
know ” ; but Lady Mercy started back in terror, recover- 
ing herself the next minute. To her he was hideous — 
his mouth misshapen, his eyes a dull red. Was it 
because her own soul was so pure that she saw people’s 
minds, not their faces, and when a mind was evil its chief 
vice shone through its fleshly covering like a beacon ? 

“ Delighted to meet you, Lady Mercy ; will you dance ? ” 

“ No, thank you.” 

“We will sit it out, then, and talk. By the way, our 
mutual friend, Lady R , tells me that you are much dis- 


156 The Windflower. 

tressed over the condition of the unemployed in our great 
city?” 

“ Yes, I want mother to devise a scheme for helping them. 
I have seen so much suffering since I have been here.” 

“ Money thrown away, I assure you ; they are a rascally 
set. If a man is willing to work there is work to be had.” 

“ I disagree, sir ; work is most difficult to obtain. A 
character is needed. Many of these poor, suffering creatures 
have no recommendation that might entitle them to recogni- 
tion at the hands of Christ’s followers. And most of them 
are not in a condition to work. They have neither clothes, 
nor health, nor hope. Could you build with your feet 
through your boots? Could you lift heavy weights with 
no strength in your body and no hope in your soul ? ” 

“You forget I am not one of the unemployed,” he said, 
smiling. 

“ No ? What do you do then ? ” 

“ Well, I do not exactly do anything.” 

“ Then you are unemployed.” 

“ I have no regular work ; but I try to follow in Christ’s 
steps. I am a Christian like yourself. I believe that He 
was God, and worship Him as such.” 

“ Sir, I fear His would have been a poor, useless martyr- 
dom if you were indeed a Christian. Go home and read 


The Windflower, 


157 

His life ; see what He says about the poor whom you 
despise. There, forgive me, I did not mean to say so much. 
But I think you are in the wrong. Good-night.” 

; “ What an awful girl you introduced me to, Lady R ! 

She was positively insulting ; a regular windbag, not a 
flower.” 

“ Didn’t it make any impression ? Poor Popsie,” she 
replied, patting him with her fan, 11 1 hoped she would 
interest you ; she is in search of the Ideal. What a pity 
she did not recognise you ! Never mind, I will introduce 
you to Baby Joy, the music-hall singer who married Lord 
Clare. You know? Come along.” 

III. 

Years passed. Lady Mercy’s first youth was over ; her 
eyes had lost the light of hope — a wild, sorrowful expression 
filled them. She had never gone back to the country ; she 
could not return to the happy home of her childish ideals, 
the joyless, broken-hearted creature she was now. 

She drove out one day in September. Gaily dressed 
women were shopping. Flower stalls of roses, carnations, 
marguerites, gave a foreign look to the city. A wild west 
wind, fragrant with the breath of autumn, rushed through 
the streets. 


The Windflower. 


158 

Suddenly there was some confusion in the road. A 
policeman battled among a host of prancing horses and 
grand carriages. A victoria containing two gorgeously 
dressed ladies had run over a mongrel dog. One of its 
owners, a ragged girl, sobbed on the pavement, as her 
half-starved brother elbowed his way to the officer’s 
side. 

“ Our paw Jack ; ’is leg’s broke.” 

“You should not let him run about in crowded streets,” 
said one of the smart occupants of the victoria. 

“ End yer shouldn’t let yer cussed ’osses droive over the 
paw beast,” replied the boy, taking it in his arms and trying 
to soothe its cries. 

“ I was going to give you money, boy, but I shall not for 
your impertinence.” 

Lady Mercy stood on the pavement comforting the little 
girl. 

“ Never moind, Puddles,” said her brother, coming up 
with the dog in his arms. “ Our Prince will cure ’im.” 

“ Prince is doying, brother, you know thet.” 

“Who is Prince, my boy?” asked Lady Mercy. 

“ ’E’s our only friend. ’E’s father and mother to all hus 
poor.” 

“ Is he beautiful ? ” she asked eagerly. 


The Windflower. 159 

u What, in the faice ? Rather not.” 

44 Ah ! then it cannot be he,” said Lady Mercy sadly. 
44 Why do you call him Prince ? ” 

44 Becos 'e is Prince — the Prince of Pity. ’E’s ill now ; 
but ’e says ’e can’t doi till something ’appens.” 

“ What?” 

44 Oi der know. Somethink .” 

44 Where does he live ? ” 

44 Hover there,” said the boy, with a vague wave of his 
hand. 

44 1 will take you there if you will let me. Will you get 
into the carriage?” 

44 What, in there ? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 Rather. Come on, Puddles.” 

Lady Mercy helped the two forlorn creatures into 
her carriage, and placed the dog tenderly on the front 
seat. 

44 Will you tell the coachman where to go ? ” 

44 Yaas, droive ter Greenleaf Court.” 

The Prince of Pity lay dying of want in one of the 
poorest quarters of the great city. His face was gaunt 
and weather-beaten, his eyes glazed and dull. A young 
child sat on the floor nursing a half-starved cat — both 


160 The Windflower. 

waifs of the street rescued from utter misery by the good 
Samaritan. 

Sorrow was always with the poor of Greenleaf Court; 
but now their affliction was more bitter than ever. Their 
dear master, who had devoted his life to them, and had 
given away all his worldly goods until he was as poor and 
destitute as they, the man who told them of sweet flowers 
and green meadows and silver streams, he who made peace 
in their quarrels, divided his scanty earnings among them, 
taught the children, he, their only stay in a world of 
suffering and want, was leaving them for ever. 

The Prince of Pity lay drowsing away to 41 poppied 
death.” 

The wind wailed and sobbed round the house, and burst 
in at the door as Lady Mercy entered. 

She saw the man. His clothes were worn and old, but 
;she beheld only his face ; that face which even the poor who 
almost worshipped him thought ugly, was beautiful to her ; 
it told of love and charity. She knew his life had been 
'lived for others. 

j “ Ah, you have come at last I ” he cried. “ Welcome. I 
so feared 1 should die without any one to continue my work, 
and I asked the Wind that sprung up in the early hours to 
waft me some one hither.” 


The Windflower, 


1 61 


44 He has obeyed you. I am named the Windflower; 
but, sir, you too have a beautiful title ; they call you the 
Prince of Pity. Wao are you?” 

44 I am an unworthy follower of the man Christ.” 

44 You are then a Christian ? ” 

44 1 said the man Christ. I belong to no Church. I 
profess no creed.” 

44 What do you do ? ” 

44 My child,” he said, and his voice sounded sorrowful like 
the sobbing of the sea, 44 my life’s work is all in these 
simple lines, — 

44 4 Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them 
that weep.’” 

“You are then he whom I seek. You are Terah, the 
breather of good. But, sir, you seem ill. Can I help 
you?” 

44 Yes, care for my poor. Be to them all the Wind is to 
you ; rock them into life, soothe them into death ; sob with 
them in grief, shout with them in joy. I am going 
away.” 

44 Whither ? ” 

44 To the earth, to rest and peace at last.” 

44 Not to heaven ? ” 

44 My child, have you lived in the great city and not 


11 


162 


The Windflower, 


learned that we can imagine no heaven so lovely as the 
joy of our hearts when we do a good action ? I am on the 
verge of that sleep which knows no awakening. The Halls 
of Death lead not unto Life.” 

Mercy was dazed with the beauty of the man’s soul. 
It filled his eyes with a radiance which overwhelmed 
her. 

“ I have found Terah,” she cried, looking heavenwards, 
and clasping her hands in an ecstasy of happiness. “ The 
world is bright again. My ideal is true. Beautiful, 
merciful ; and self an immolated sacrifice. Why have I lost 
my youth in seeking him to lose him now ? ” 

A distant voice seemed to float on the wind. u Had he 
lived you must have died. The good action has its reward 
here and hereafter. He has passed through the Halls of 
Death unto the House of Life. Be content, you have been 
much blessed. The Ideal is realised in heaven.” 

The room was filled with a perfume as of many flowers. 
The wind sobbed out a requiem. Lady Mercy’s face shone 
with a great light. She looked down. The Prince of Pity 
lay dead. 

On the site of Greenleaf Court a beautiful house now 
stands, every window full of flowers. Designed by a great 
architect, all the poor of the district were employed to help 


The Windflower. 163 

in its erection. It is called the “ House of Pity.” In the 
large hall, where the hungry are fed and the sorrowful 
are comforted, the following inscription is wrought on the 
wall in letters of gold, wreathed with windflowers : — 











< 


i 


t 

t 


































































The Village 

of Youth 


Hnt> ©tber jfairs? XTales 


BY 

BESSIE HATTON 

Author of “ Enid Lylef etc. 


HClltb ftumerous illustrations 


W. H. 



NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


3{f, 


3 h 

■* 4 $ 



♦ 










